


Kingdom Come

by WanderingSkis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Conspiracy, Dragons, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Guard Lance, King Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Prince Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSkis/pseuds/WanderingSkis
Summary: When King Shiro goes missing in the night, the castle and the kingdom are left in disarray, with an immensely unprepared Prince Keith left to take his place. Only problem is the people of the kingdom aren't exactly Keith's biggest fans... Good thing the Blade left behind a certain knight-in-training to watch his back while they're off looking for their missing king. At the very least, things can't get any worse, can they?Spoiler alert: they can.ORA kingdom AU that began as self-indulgent Keith drabble and quickly spiraled into way more than it should have been.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. A Kingdom Without its King

**Author's Note:**

> This AU has been sitting around in multiple word documents for over a year, and I thought might as well share it. Please feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts! It's extremely helpful for me to know what people think of my writing, especially because I'm pretty new to the whole posting scene. Every comment helps! Seriously though, thank you for even clicking on this at all.
> 
> I have about eight chapters of this done, so please do let me know if you'd like more, and I will do my very best to deliver. This chapter is on the short side, but it's really just introductory. I promise shit actually does go down later.

It was a dark time.

Thunder boomed outside the castle, and flashes of lightning pierced through the air in a deadly crack, alighting the corridors in florescent blue.

“ _Your Highness_ -”

All around, frantic footsteps smacked against the marble floor; armor clinked, and heavy doors were thrust open and slammed shut.

“ _My prince_ -”

Dusk had not quite fully set in, and yet all the candles of the castle were alight and flickering wildly, the interior unnaturally bright in contrast to the dreadful inky sky. Shouts echoed down the halls and panicked uncertainties were flung this way and that.

“ _You need to tell us what to do_.”

The air around him felt dry and stale, yet an untamable electricity crackled through the air that set his veins ablaze.

His blood turned icy and his skin rippled. Chaos revolved around him in constant motion, while all he could do was stand stock still.

_“The King!What’s happened to the King?”“Missing.”“…Search party…”“What do we do?”“…Prince must take over.”“Assassins?”“Thief?”“Ransom?””Where?””What?””Who?””Why?””How?”_

_Who could have done this?_

“ **Your Highness**.”

Frantic eyes locked onto those of the Head of the Royal Guard.

With steely eyes, the knight continued in a hard and stern voice that betrayed no emotion at all, despite the overwhelming sense of fear buzzing among the rest of the castle’s inhabitants.

“With the absence of the King, you are the next in line to take charge. Tell us how we should proceed.”

_Not ready. Not meant for this. Shiro’s job._

The prince’s eyes began to glaze over in attempts to dissociate from the situation, but before the prince could completely shut him out, the knight planted a strong arm on the prince’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. For a mere fraction of a second, the knight’s eyes softened.

“We need you now more than ever, Prince Keith. You must step up to the title you’ve been given. Please, tell us what to do.”

_What to do. What to do? What the hell would anyone do?_

“I…I don’t…”

He didn’t _want_ this.

He floundered with his words, and his thoughts were miles and miles away.

Yet the knight’s stare persevered.

“Kolivan, I…I can’t…I can’t-”

“ **Your kingdom _needs_ you**.”

Alarm bells. Crashing lightning. Booming thunder. Loud, pattering rain. Worried voices and frenzied whispers. Feet smacking against the ground and untiring, relentless, burning movement.

Overwhelming responsibility.

A cold crown resting upon an empty thrown.

A missing king.

And a head too small for a crown much too heavy.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Just _find_ _him_. Search everywhere. All night. All _week,_ if that’s what it takes. Just bring my brother _home_.”

“As you wish, your Highness.”

Kolivan released his hold on the prince’s shoulder and gave a short bow, before pacing swiftly away to gather his best soldiers. He sure hoped they’d find their missing king soon, because as much as he had faith in the young prince, it was clear he was nowhere near ready to be thrust in such a position.

Yet the clock was ticking. And typically when kings were smuggled away in the night…

They didn’t come back. 


	2. Royal Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Lance

Lance had been admiring the thick droplets of rain spattering against the window when it started. The loud, echoing footsteps, the slamming doors and yelling voices, the general sense of panic that settled among his shoulders.

Immediately, he’d sprung up from his perch against the window, nearly tripping on his way to the closet where his uniform and armor resided.

He’d only just finished placing the last of his armor over his bony shoulders when the door to his quarters burst open, a very urgent and serious Kolivan standing behind it.

“Oh, hey there, big cat,” Lance said, a smirk tugging at his lips and a hand cocked lazily against his hip. “Was just about to come find you.”

“Lance,” the knight said, and there was a certain tension to his voice that made the young soldier sober his expression and straighten up. “The King has gone missing. We think he’s been taken but we don’t know by whom.”

Lance’s thin eyebrows raised further and further up his forehead with each spoken word, his mouth slowly drawing into a frown.

“The Prince has ordered us to find the King,” Kolivan continued. “It could take days, weeks-”

“I’m in.”

Lance had already begun to shove his way out the door when Kolivan gripped him by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.

“You are not coming with us, Lance.”

And Lance’s bones tightened, his neck craning back at Kolivan whose firm hand was still firmly grasped against his shoulders.

“Wha-”

“We need you here,” Kolivan said. “At the castle. Protecting the Prince.”

Lance cocked a single eyebrow, a pout surely developing across his face, because seriously? He was getting stuck as the prince’s babysitter?

“We’re taking out all our best men on this one,” Kolivan said, deliberately ignoring the belligerent look making its way across Lance’s face. “Finding the King takes priority…However, I need someone I trust to stay here and look after the Prince.”

Lance met his eyes and he swears to _god_ that at that moment there had been the faintest hint of a smile pulling at Kolivan’s lips.

“I trust you, Lance.”

And apparently, Lance was weak for appraisal, because he took up his post as Royal Babysitter without any further complaint.

***

Turns out that had been a fucking mistake.

Not only was the Prince a tool, but he was also elusive as all hell, meaning it took Lance at least forty minutes of searching the giant castle before eventually finding His Royal Buttwipe tucked away in the garden, surrounded by countless types of green fauna that Lance couldn’t even attempt to know the names of.

“Hey there, majesty,” Lance said, walking towards the prince in lazy strides with a chipperness to his voice and a relaxed face. He’d just ignore the fact that it took forty fucking minutes to find this stupid overgrown garden. “You know, you can be a really hard guy to find when you wanna be.”

The Prince startled, head bursting up from where it rested on his knees to gaze wide-eyed at Lance as he approached him. Keith’s surprise quickly melted into confusion, his thick brow raising and arching as a curious look overtook him. “Who’re you?”

And Lance felt like he had been punched at that statement. Because. Okay. He’d only been a guard at the castle for about two and a half years now and just so happened to be training under the Head of the Royal Guard himself. No big deal. “Uh. The name’s Lance? I live here in the castle?”

Keith eyed him up and down. “Really? Are you an engineer like Pidge’s dad?”

Lance tried to mask the offense that struck him at that. “No. I’m a castle guard. Training to be a knight. I’ve been assigned to look after you while everyone else is off looking for your brother.”

The Prince’s expression fell at that, his eyebrows twisting into something more pained. “Oh… Well, congratulations.”

God this guy was such a tool. With his fancy miffed up hair and his swirling robes and his polished shoes that he definitely didn’t appreciate. Lance knew people who had much less than this ungrateful prince worth ten of him. Why couldn’t he just be looking for the King with all the other royal guards?

Lance was apparently too deep in thought to notice when the prince had shifted, his body scrunching and tightening up until he was curled in a tight ball with his cheek rested against his knees which were drawn to his chest. His dark eyes gazed at Lance.

“You know something, Lance?” Keith said, his voice hushed and soft.

Lance peered back, fully resting himself against the ground. Looking around, the fauna actually did look quite beautiful from down here.

“Today’s my birthday,” the Prince said, and Lance swallowed as the prince drew his knees even closer to himself. The prince made a small, bitter noise then that sounded more wounded than angry.

Oh.

Lance swallowed again, finding his mouth felt dry and heavy.

Oh.

“Happy birthday,” Lance said, words coming out a mere whisper.

“Yeah,” the Prince said, and he swallowed thickly, his voice settling into something huskier and more wistful. “Happy birthday to me.”

They sat in silence. Then:

“Do you think they’ll find him?”

Lance didn’t think the prince could recede any further into his own body.

“Usually when kings go missing, they don’t come back.”

The Prince’s expression looked guarded as his eyes met Lance’s, whatever emotion he was feeling hidden carefully behind dark, piercing irises. 

“I hope so.” Lance said, finding he could give no definite answer. The prince was right. Normally, kings who disappeared in the night didn’t come back. He found himself frowning in distaste at the crestfallen expression that had befallen the prince’s face. That wouldn’t do, he decided, and so, against all the dislike he felt for this guy, he kept talking. “What I _do_ know is that Kolivan is an _intense_ dude. He’s not resting until he’s got King Shiro home safe.”

Keith let out an amused huff at that.

Another moment of silence.

“So why aren’t you off with everyone else then?” The Prince said, his voice and expression shifting into something more calm, as he arched a playful brow. “How’d you get stuck with the lovely job of being my babysitter?”

“Hey! That’s _royal_ babysitter to you! I don’t sell out for mere peasant jobs.”

Keith snorted, but didn’t say anymore, just stayed rooted to the spot on the ground in the same position he was before Lance had found him. However, Lance didn’t fail to notice the newfound slack in his posture. 

He also didn’t fail to notice how the first crests of the sunrise warmly lit the top of the prince’s dark hair.

He didn’t fail to notice, but he also refused to acknowledge.

The two of them sat in calm silence, watching the sun begin its slow ascent into the sky, signaling dawn.

He let out a low, relaxed sigh.

For now, he was just a babysitter. And the Prince may have been rich, may have had everything Lance never could have, may have _been_ everything Lance could never _be_ , but he was alright.

After all, it was the dude’s birthday. The least Lance could do was go easy on him.

“Lance?” The Prince said, and Lance glanced at him through his peripheral, before looking back towards the scenery before him, refusing to turn his head from the sunrise.

“Your Highness?”

“Could you just…just call me Keith?”

Lance pondered the request for a short bit of time before nodding his head shortly. “Sure thing, Keith.”

And if Keith grinned at that, Lance refused notice as he watched the sun rise.


	3. coup de grâce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from 0 to 100 real quick.

It wasn’t long before a week came and went. A week spent with Lance dutifully guarding by Keith’s side day after day.

When Keith went to go discuss the news of late with Hunk and Pidge, Lance went too (to Hunk’s immense enthusiasm). When Keith went to discuss proper courses of action with the royal adviser, Lance went too. Hell, even when Keith went to use the _bathroom_ , Lance waited patiently and attentively outside the door until Keith was done.

Keith was not used to spending this much time with company.

And it was beginning to get irritating.

Keith needed an escape.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the mountains in the distance when Keith’s eyes fluttered open and he begrudgingly pushed himself up with a groan. He sighed peacefully at the emptiness of his bedchambers. No Lance. Of course, the knight-in-training was simply posted outside his door, ensuring no one entered the safety of his chamber— _Or left_ , Keith thought sourly.

He wouldn’t be able to use the door to get out, that much was clear, but luckily, Keith had other methods…

It hadn’t been difficult to discover he could climb out his window and shimmy along the edge of the narrow turret to the next window which opened up into the guest quarters right beside his own. Many restless nights of being locked in his room until he finished his studies had led to this useful discovery. Now, it was proving quite handy.

Once his bare feet touched the cold floor, safely once again within the castle walls, Keith’s lips quirked up at the corners as he felt the rush of adrenaline course through him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do something so reckless and childish since he was sixteen.

Regaining his composure, Keith quietly crept to the door. He would need to be careful here, for if Lance heard a single sound, he could easily turn his head around the corner and spot him. As silently as possible, he slowly pushed on the door, and winced at the slight, whining creak it made. But after breathlessly awaiting the footsteps that never came, Keith decided it was safe to continue. Still, he didn’t let out a single breath until the door was open just wide enough for him and his night vestments to sneak through soundlessly.

However, all his breath was nearly released in a huff of laughter when he spotted Lance leaned against his door with his eyes shut loosely and his mouth parted slightly with a short string of saliva trailing down from it. Keith’s primary source of protection was asleep on the job. The kingdom must’ve been pretty low on dependable soldiers if _this_ was supposed to be his first line of defense in the Blades’ absence.

Shaking his head, Keith silently continued down the corridor, descending the extensive stone stairs and making a mad dash towards freedom.

The sweetness of freedom had just barely begun to tickle at his lips; he could feel the burst of electrified energy sparking up his veins, the cool air against his face and neck, raising a forest of goosebumps on his skin, when—

“My Prince.”

Keith tried to withhold the groan that bubbled at the surface of his lips as the royal advisor suddenly impeded upon his path in a flurry of robes, with scrolls scattered neatly within his arms. His gaze was determined and calculated.

Just like that, the young prince stopped in his tracks, feeling the sharp grass tickle at his bare ankles and hearing the rush of the river not too far down the path. Felt the cold bite of freedom that was so close, yet so far away, dangling right in front of him, openly waiting to embrace him, yet unattainable.

He turned to face his advisor, head held down and shoulders scrunched up as if he’d already been caught for something he hadn’t even done yet. He met the advisor’s steady gaze and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Ulaz.”

“I’ve come to discuss the next course of action. Sir Kolivan and his men have been gone far too long. I’ve heard word that there are whispers amongst the people of Garrison, rumors and questions. They need to know what’s happened before the rumors reach the entire kingdom.”

Keith leveled him with a steely gaze, his eyes betraying nothing.

“Give Kolivan and his men a few more days,” Keith implored. “They need more _time_.”

Ulaz’s gaze hardened. “ _They_ need more time, or **_you_** need more time.” It wasn’t presented as a question.

Keith refused to back down at Ulaz’s harsh words, hardening his stoic eyes tenfold as he felt pinpricks like a dagger twisting against his chest. Ulaz couldn’t see inside him. No one could. He was an impenetrable wall, could be breached by nothing, nothing but…

Shiro. Shiro always knew what to do. Always knew how to lead, how to make the right call, how to keep his shit together even when he, unbeknownst to everyone else, was falling apart at the seams—but, really, Shiro never was falling apart at the seams, because Shiro had been born for this. Shiro had been raised and trained exactly for this position. Keith had accidentally stumbled into it. Started as a nobody and broke down enough walls, fought against the burdening weight of gravity so hard that he somehow cracked an entire fucking doorway down and ended up crashing his way into Shiro’s home and into Shiro’s heart.

Sometimes, he regretted that cold, stormy night, that night when he had been so hungry, so tired, so cold and angry at the world for placing him in a life so unfair that his dumb ass decided to throw dirt right back at the world by stealing from the King himself. If he had just left that goddamn castle alone, he could’ve remained an insignificant little nobody and not have to suffer the weight of a responsibility he didn’t deserve. He wouldn’t know the pain of letting love into his life for the first goddamn time, only to have it ripped away, leaving him empty and scared. He wouldn’t know both joy and hurt that can follow it, yet he would’ve been alone. Alone, if not already dead. Still, he thought rather dryly, that didn’t seem much different from his current circumstance.

He was always alone in the end.

As if in direct response to Keith’s thoughts, Ulaz’s eyes softened. “Alright. You have three more days. But if by then the Blade still has not returned, the King’s disappearance goes public.”

The advisor eyed him pointedly, his eyebrows raised in stern assertion.

The young prince’s eyes briefly simmered with grateful relief, but his mouth remained firmly drawn and his brows remained stoic. “You have my word.”

Ulaz gave him a firm nod, before spinning on his heels and turning back towards the castle. Mid-spin, however, the advisor looked back and gave Keith another pointed look, this one more teasing and playful.

“Best get back to that knight of yours, your Highness. He’s positively tearing apart the castle looking for you.” And as Ulaz made to turn completely away, Keith didn’t miss the smirk that spread like wildfire across Ulaz’s face.

Keith eyed the man as he walked away.

“Ah,” Ulaz said. He didn’t turn or slow his casual gait, but it was unnecessary for him to point out the mess of haphazardly placed armor and floppy unkept hair that was slowly ambling closer, a trail of dust kicking up in its wake. “There he is now.”

**…**

The small town of Garrison was growing restless. There hadn’t been so much unease and uncertainty among the townspeople since the Altean War, when the threat of losing the entire royal family to Altea’s treachery had been so real.

Yet, even then, not nearly so many rumors had been flying around. At least then, they knew who their enemy was and what they should be scared of.

An entire week of zero contact from the palace and zero reason why, the people of Garrison were left very much in the dark. All they knew was many nobles were fleeing Marmora and seeking refuge in hiding, their king hadn’t publicly addressed them in days, and no one was coming forward to give them the actual truth. And not a single soul was doing anything about it.

The streets were quieter than usual. Many of the townspeople had taken it upon themselves to keep off the streets in the later hours of evening, as the fear of the unknown kept everyone towards the side of caution.

The young man peered out the window where only a few stragglers, likely homeless, staggered through the dimly lit path. His eyes narrowed as he drew the curtains closed, turning conspiratorially towards his company. They all sat staggered amongst chairs at his kitchen table, some of them staring blankly ahead while others picked at their nails or fussed with a loose hem on their cloaks.

The man ran a bony hand through his mussy brown hair and went to double check all the shutters were drawn and the door was locked.

“So, why’d you force us to come here, James?” Rizavi said, looking lazily at her nails. “Don’t tell me it’s another one of your dumb conspiracies.”

At this, a young woman with short, blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her face glanced up, her eyes shining dimly and her mouth lax with boredom. “According to his defensive stance and cautious, unnecessary locking of all the doors and windows, it would appear as though he is doing just that.”

James groaned. His friends were the worst.

“What is it this time, James?” Rizavi said, leaning back in her seat and running tired hands through her dark hair.

“Okay—just here me out—”

“Ugh, not _again_.”

“Rizavi, I swear on my life, this time it’s _real_!”

“That’s what you said the last ten times, James.”

Somewhere to Rizavi’s left, Kinkade grunted in agreement.

“Okay, but those were pretty probable!”

“Yeah.” Rizavi scoffed. “’Cause the theory that the crowned prince of Terra is actually an Altean spy out to take over the crown is _so_ probable.”

“Well, do _you_ know where he came from?”

“Yes. The streets of Garrison. Where we used to see him smuggling food from Vrepit Sal’s stands. Got anything else?”

“Look.” James said, running a fervent hand through his frazzled hair. “The King hasn’t been heard from in days, nobles are bouncing left and right, the prince hasn’t made a peep in _months_ , and that doesn’t sound at all fishy to you?”

“Maybe they’re off on important business,” the normally quiet Kinkade piped up.

“Or maybe Altea decided to break their treaty with us.”

“No, no no. Don’t you _see_. If any of those things happened they would tell _us_. At least a noble or messenger if the royal family were too busy. But we got _nothing_. They’re trying to keep this hush hush.”

“This is ridiculous,” Rizavi muttered, dropping her head into her arms against the table.

Once again, Kinkade offered nothing but a grunt, while Leifsdottir just stared up at James owlishly.

“Just hear me out. _Please_.”

Both Rizavi and Kinkade groaned. Leifsdottir just stared at him with a blank expression. But all three of them said nothing, allowing James to speak.

“Everyone’s wondering if it’s an Altean threat or maybe even one of the other four regions…” James took a seat at the table pressing his fingers against its rough surface. “But what if the real threat lies within the throne…”

Another groan from Rizavi. “No, don’t tell me…”

“Prince Keith has been an unknown factor since he was welcomed to the throne four years ago. The castle has been _silent_. Dead silent. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the castle isn’t exactly heavily guarded. There’s like one or two guards posted at each entrance, but not nearly as much as normal. Don’t you think the castle would want more guards around if there was a threat to the throne?”

Three heads perked up in interest.

“I guess that is a little weird…” Rizavi said.

“How do you know about the guards?” Kinkade said.

James reached an arm up the scratch at the back of his neck. “I, uh, may have done some prior investigating…”

“James!”

“What! I needed proof!”

“Well, it’s still lame proof.” The chair grated harshly against the floor as Rizavi quickly pushed away from the table and stood up. “You could get in _serious_ trouble for shit like this, James. You could get _all of us_ in trouble.”

“But—”

“No more buts. No more excuses. No more theories. I don’t wanna hear you talking about this _any_ more. Got it?”

James said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Sorry, buddy.” Kinkade stood from his chair as well, albeit much more softly than Rizavi had. “But you know she’s right.” He placed a comforting hand to James’ shoulder before joining Rizavi by the front door.

Leifsdottir stood as well, hands folding neatly against the table to push herself up. “The probability of you getting thrown in the dungeon or banished at this rate is very high. I would advise you to pick up a new hobby.” And with her normal blank stare, she joined Rizavi and Kinkade at the door.

James refused to face them, fists clenched and head pointed down.

“We’re just looking out for you, James. You need to learn when enough is enough.”

Silence.

“See you tomorrow, buddy.”

And James heard the door open, felt the cool wind against his back, but then it was gone. And he was all alone.

**…**

Three days later, and neither the Blade nor Shiro were back. Three days later, and it was time to share the news…

Hunk and Pidge had helped Keith into his best robes while Lance stood outside the door and waited. Everyone in the castle was somber. The maids, the servants, the very few nobles who remained, even the horses in the stable were quieter than usual. Everyone had expected the Blade to be back by now, empty handed or not. And the lack of anything tangible to latch onto left everyone feeling down in the dumps.

Even Lance who always tried to remain optimistic was having trouble believing anything good was to come from this situation.

And when Keith emerged from his quarters, elegant flowing robes and soft, braided hair, ever the picture perfect prince, yet looking so out of place there, Lance’s heart broke a bit. Sure, Keith was not his favorite person; he didn’t seem to appreciate the luxuries he’d been given or the unbelievable title he’d been bestowed with, but he looked like a scared little duckling who was drowning in the size of his flowing robes and shiny crown. He was the ugly duckling and he was being forced into a swan before he was ready. Lance couldn’t help but hurt for him. Especially when he watched as Keith glanced in the floor-length mirror across the hall, his eyes searching for something he couldn’t seem to find.

The prince sighed, and Hunk placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a sad smile.

Ulaz suddenly strode into the room, looking crisp and clean-cut as always. He gave Keith a wistful once over, before leveling him with a withdrawn look. “It’s time.”

“Time for my funeral.” Keith muttered.

And Pidge gave him an encouraging pat on the back, before handing him over to Lance. “At least you’ll die pretty.”

Pidge and Hunk weren’t permitted to leave the castle, so Lance did his best to keep Keith in high spirits, all things considered.

“That’s a pretty crown, Keith, even with your dirty mullet. Why don’tcha ever wear it?”

“It’s not a mullet,” Keith muttered, and no other response was given.

Lance didn’t push it.

Ulaz had been fearful of inviting anyone to the castle while Shiro’s whereabouts were still unknown, so Keith was to visit each of Terra’s regions individually to give the news. That meant a lot of walking and a lot of talking, but Lance was sure that was nothing new for the prince. He _was_ a prince, after all.

While some guards remained at the castle, a ring of them surrounded Keith as they made their way toward Garrison, Lance armed and ready at Keith’s side, his armor primed and shined for the public appearance.

A messenger had been sent ahead to announce Keith’s arrival to the town, so when they arrived, dozens of people stood eagerly in the town square, their faces worried and serious, yet keen to find out what was going on.

Many murmurs settled across the crowd as Keith and the guards stood before them, none of which Lance could make out. All eyes looked to Keith and the guards as whispers were exchanged and the crowd shifted from foot to foot. Lance had to admit even he, ever the social butterfly, was a little overwhelmed by the extent of the townspeople and the weight of all their waiting gazes.

With a flourish of the messenger’s trumpet, all the murmurs ceased all at once. “I announce to you Prince Keith,” Ulaz said in a booming steady voice before gesturing towards Keith with a bow.

Keith, eyes wide like a frightened fawn, cleared his throat and stepped up to the people. Lance trailed behind him, lingering just behind his shoulder, so as not to steal Keith’s thunder.

Weakly, Keith cleared his throat.

All eyes were set dead on him.

“Hello,” Keith said in voice much weaker than Lance would’ve expected from a prince. He must’ve been tired from everything that was going on. Lance sure was. “I’m here to discuss with you the state of the kingdom.” Keith took a deep breath, likely steeling himself for what he had to say next. “King Shiro is missing.” A series of gasps and mutters rang through the crowd, and god, Keith was floundering. Keith, the prince of Terra, was floundering, and he looked lost and scared and confused, and maybe Lance had been wrong about Keith’s public abilities…

Keith looked to Ulaz helplessly, and Ulaz held up a hand, which quickly brought everyone to silence.

“He disappeared in the middle of the night about ten days ago, and we haven’t been able to find him since. We assume he was captured, but…but we don’t know that for sure…”

More outraged cries flew up from the citizens.

_What do you mean you don’t know?”_

_“Who the hell is running the kingdom?”_

_“What are we going to do if we don’t find him?”_

All the shouts seemed to blend together, but there was one that stood out, said by a brunette that emerged from the crowd on long, skinny legs and with a glare that could cut: **“Why are we only being told about this _now_?”**

All silenced and looked towards the young man who was pacing towards the prince, a sharp anger in his eyes and a firm set to his cut jaw.

Instinctively, Lance moved a little closer to Keith.

“Tell me, your _Majesty_ ,” the boy sneered, “why all the guards of the castle seem to be suddenly off duty.” Quiet murmurs went around the crowd, before falling silent as the boy continued. “And tell me why all nobility has fled the castle instead of taking refuge in it.” More muttered agreements amongst the crowd. “ _Tell me_ how someone managed to sneak into the most _fortified_ piece of infrastructure in the middle of the night and got off _scot-free_ without leaving a _trace_.”

The crowd looked once again to Keith for answers.

“I—well—”

“And _tell me_ ,” the boy interrupted, standing mere inches from the prince now, “why you’re _only_ thinking of telling us about this when the rumors have finally addressed the _royal family_ being a possible culprit.”

The crowd broke out in outrage, pushing and shoving to get closer to the prince, hurling questions this way and that.

Quickly, Lance grabbed Keith’s arm and pulled him back. A guard offered his horse, and Lance hoisted Keith into it, grabbing the reins from where he stood on the ground and leading them the fuck out of there while the guards tried to reel the crowd back.

Welp. Two more regions to go.

**…**

When things have finally calmed in Garrison, the townspeople mill about in a mix of anxiety, restlessness, and helpless detachment. No one truly knows what has happened, much less what is to come.

The shouts had finally ended. The soldiers had finally left. It’s as though nothing even happened.

But it did.

And that’s all the townspeople can think as they sluggishly attempt to saunter their way back to their previous activities and trades, finding themselves at some point lost along the way.

Amongst the crowd of adrift denizens, a skinny young man with mussy brown hair and eyes that shine with a determination all others seem to have lost stands upon the well’s edge at the center of town. He stands there for a moment, eyeing the crowd and decisively skimming over the disapproving gazes from his friends from afar. He refuses to back down, a childlike defiance he could never seem to outgrow.

He clears his throat once. No one notices, and the aimless milling continues.

He clears his throat again, this time louder and clearer, a confident edge to his eyes with the fierce draw of his brows. He holds a slow, slender fist into the air and holds it there as the empty shells of townsfolk slowly begin acknowledging him, eyebrows raised in confusion and mouths drawn with leisure curiosity.

When all eyes are finally on him, he opens his mouth and speaks.

**…**

Once finally returned to the castle, Keith collapsed against the desk in his quarters, falling against it like a man who had just been sent off to battle and had lost. He buried his face against its hard surface, disheveled hair flopping messily around him.

Lance lingered in the doorframe, leaning against it with his arms crossed in amusement as Keith began to groan and lightly tap the desk with his fists.

It wasn’t long after when Hunk and Pidge appeared at Lance’s side, alerting Keith of their presence through Hunk’s careful yet heavy footsteps and Pidge’s dry snort.

“That bad, huh?” Pidge said, and Keith looked up miserably, only to be met by her smirking face.

“Aw, buddy, I’m sorry,” Hunk said, and his eyebrows were pinched lightly, his eyes shining with sympathy vastly different from Pidge’s apparent amusement.

Keith merely groaned in response, banging his head down against the table once again.

It had gone only as well as Keith expected, that is to say, _horribly_.

“Let’s just say the people weren’t popping bottles of champagne at the news,” Lance said, and his eyebrows were raised wryly, but his voice sounded dry and mocking.

All the townspeople reacted as Keith had anticipated. The sturdy loggers of Kerberos were livid with anger at the state of the royal monarchy. The miners of Puig were shocked and unsurprisingly terrified at the prospect of Keith standing in as their ruler until their _true_ king was found. What had occurred in Garrison had been a lovely little surprise. Keith had expected the small business owners, merchants, and traders to be upset, but he sure hadn’t expected an actual mob. Still, he knew if an impulsive and skinny little charity case were to be ruling over _him_ , he wouldn’t be too happy either.

He knew they hated him. Hell, sometimes he hated himself too.

Keith suddenly felt a presence next to him and looked up to meet Hunk’s warm gaze. His deep brown eyes drooled with honey and sweetness as he placed a caring yet sturdy hand on Keith’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey. Don’t beat yourself up! I’m sure they were all just shocked at the news. I mean, who wouldn’t be! It’s probably nothing against _you_!”

Keith ran tense fingers through his tangled hair. “I highly doubt that.”

“Are you kidding me? You _come_ from Garrison. The townspeople are probably really happy to have one of their own representing them in the royal court.”

Keith peaked an incredulous brow. “You really think so?” His tone was stale with disbelief.

“Yeah! I mean, you’re probably just _projecting_. _I_ do it _all_ the time.”

Keith glanced to Pidge and Lance where they still waited in the doorway, but their expressions were schooled with indifference, only the faintest twitch of Lance’s eyebrows and the slightest pouting of Pidge’s lips showing they were considering Hunk’s words.

Hunk then placed a second hand to Keith’s other shoulder, encompassing Keith in his warmth and leveling him with an assertive and warm gaze, locking meaningful eyes on Keith in a way that pushed Pidge and Lance to distract themselves with the opposite wall, so as to feel less like they were encroaching on something that appeared so intimate.

“I bet Garrison is glad that you’re their prince, and I bet if they’d want anyone to take King Shiro’s place in his absence, it would be you. They must know Shiro wouldn’t accept just _anyone_ into his home. He chose you for a reason.”

Despite his frazzled and disheveled appearance, despite the dirt that caked his robes and the ache that lingered in his tired feet and the rawness that scratched up his throat from all the talking, Keith found it in himself to smile.

Shiro _must’ve_ known how his people would react to his addition into the Crown. He was the perfect king, loved his people and his kingdom more than anything else and would always put them first. It seemed unlikely that Shiro would allow Keith into his family, into his _legacy_ , if he knew it would make his people unhappy. Maybe Keith somehow _had_ been projecting this whole time.

Maybe Garrison had somehow managed to find hope in their hearts that Keith could one day rule them in a way that truly honored Shiro’s legacy. Maybe they didn’t hate him, after all.

**…**

A large group of people were gathered around the well that the skinny boy stood upon. Many voices cheered. Many raised their fists into the air. A cool fire ran rampant in the boy’s eyes as shouts and cries and chants of unity rang across the large crowd. Nearly the entirety of Garrison surrounded the boy, all shops, businesses, and homes left vacant and unattended. Three cautious people watched the crowd carefully from the back, their eyebrows pinched in slight worry and their mouths drawn in mild concern.

“ **Our prince is a liar!** ”

Shouts of agreement.

“ **Altean scum here to take over our crown!** ”

More wild shouts and affirmations.

“ **He took our king from us, and now he’s taken over our _throne_!**”

The bellowing crowd only grew louder with each of the young man’s words, each member giving the boy their rapt attention with a newfound energy and fire that mimicked and maybe even rivaled the boy’s own.

“ **What are we gonna do?** ”

The giant mass of voices all passionately cried out various fiery responses.

_"Stop him!”_

_"Take back our crown!”_

_"Protect our kingdom!”_

_“Drive that Altean scum out and make him wish he never came!”_

From up where he stood on the ledge of the well, the once small and insignificant boy with the skinny frame and the bony hands and the mousy brown hair _became_ somebody. He had the people surrounding him and their trust engraved in him, and for once in his modest life, he felt like someone of importance. For once in his life, this tiny, modest town didn’t seem quite so constricting, and the shackles of his working-class title didn’t seem to bind him quite so tight. A raw, sizzling energy surged through him then, popping and crackling and growing each second with renewed vigor.

James’ whole life, he’d been chained down by social class and economic status, by the name of the town in which he lived and by the life that had been forcibly passed down from his parents to him. His whole life, he’d been imprisoned by those which told him he could never be anything more.

This was what it felt like to break free.

Justice was coming.

And it was coming soon.

**…**

It was around two in the morning when the shouts reached the castle. Always a light sleeper, Keith awoke with a start, looking out his window to find torchlight burning in the air from the ground far below.

Keith only had a second to knit his eyebrows in confusion before Lance came bursting into the room, hurling the heavy door open so forcefully that, as Keith whipped his head around, he watched it slam into the wall.

Lance for a moment watched it slowly creep back towards him, but quickly redirected his serious gaze back to Keith.

“We need to go. _Now_.”

His eyes were bright with anxious worry but narrowed and steeled with a newfound layer of serious that Keith had never seen or even thought to imagine in Lance’s eyes. His armor looked stiff and his hand tightly gripped the hilt of the sword that waited attentively in its scabbard at his hip. A lance poked out from where it lay strapped across Lance’s back. Keith would’ve thought to make a wry comment about it, if not for the grave expression on Lance’s face and the mysterious torches and shouts waiting just outside the castle doors.

“What’s going on?” Keith said, eyes, ears, and blood all alert and alit as fire coursed along his veins.

“No time to explain. Villagers ready to knock down the door. We need to get you _out_.”

Despite the danger awaiting them, Keith had never liked being told what to do. And was it childish and not the greatest moment to stubbornly cross his arms and refuse to move a muscle until he was told exactly what was going on? Perhaps. But Keith had never been known for making things easy.

In fact, it probably looked pretty stupid, Keith stubbornly demanding the respect of an authoritative prince in his rumpled pajamas with his wildly mussed and twisted hair sticking in every direction.

But Keith didn’t give _two shits_.

Lance sighed and eyed Keith dangerously, voice calm and steady, although his eyes flashed wildly. “It looks like they’re staging a coup. We don’t know which region – it could even be all of them—but there’s a whole lot of people out there and they’ve already taken down all guards posted outside and it seems they’ve taken their weapons. _We need to **go**_.”

Without wasting a single moment, Keith paced to his wardrobe and threw on his ceremonial armor, selecting his most sturdy pair of boots. The stables were too far away. Keith knew they’d be escaping on foot. He grabbed his blade from under his pillow, and Lance thankfully was too preoccupied to question it.

Without another word, he nodded to Lance and strode out the door with Lance quickly following behind him, hurrying to pass in front of Keith to better shield him from any oncoming threats. They raced quietly down long corridors, watching as lights behind closed doors flickered to life. Amidst all the chaos, Keith found himself hoping none of the castle staff ended up getting hurt.

They had just begun to descend the wide stairwell, when a giant, earsplitting bang notified them that the mob had gotten in. Loud voices and shouts quickly flooded the castle, dangerous firelight filling the space as they drew nearer. Keith started as a few armed guards ran past them down the stairs, swords in hand and a seriousness cutting at their jaws. After watching them pass, Keith made to continue down the dark stairwell, but Lance held him back with an outstretched arm, pinning them both close to the wall.

Keith had been about to angrily push Lance’s hand away and level him with an indignant look when the sound of a struggle happening further down the stairwell reached his ears. A few muffled shouts and some loud thuds had the hairs on Keith’s arms shivering to life. For a moment, all noise seemed to cease, the sounds of shouting and stomping feet from elsewhere in the castle muffling to mere white noise.

But then everything shot back into focus when Keith saw the torchlight warming the stairwell. They were going to come, and they were going to find them. Suddenly, Keith wished his armor wasn’t just ceremonial. Sure, it sort of worked as an extra layer for protection, but it was really only meant to be decorative, made from much lighter material than that of true armor like the guards wore.

Lance drew Keith closer to himself, pressing him behind him with a protective arm, so as to shield him from whatever was coming up those stairs. Keith wanted to give Lance a frustrated glare, but he really didn’t have any means of protecting himself, other than the thin blade resting securely against his hip. But a blade was nothing against the huge swords the mobbers had stolen off of the guards after taking them out.

One voice seemed to be closer than the rest. A set of footsteps sounding off from and nearer than the others. Someone must’ve ran up ahead of the rest.

The light drew nearer, and the footsteps echoed louder, and, from where Keith stood behind him, he could see Lance’s hand grip the hilt of his sword tighter. They waited. Keith could feel his pulse in his ear; and drawn so close to Lance, he could practically feel the sharp tingles of anticipation that danced across Lance’s skin.

Eventually, the noises and the light became all too close, and swiftly, Lance’s hand rose from the hilt of his sword to the lance secured at his back. Keith eyed the movement but didn’t question it.

In a flourish, he drew it and silently hurled himself around the corner, seemingly connecting with his intended target, if the sharp grunt and loud thud of a body dropping and tumbling down a few steps was anything to go by.

Keith hurried down the steps and around the corner, confirming that his initial suspicions were true. He eyed Lance’s taught form, relieved as Lance slowly lowered his hand, panting with his eyes widened. Eventually, a smile spread like wildfire across his face, and his eyes burst to life with something akin to childlike exhilaration.

“You’ve never used that thing before, have you?”

Lance startled at first, but grinned when he met Keith’s pointed gaze.

“There’s a first time for everything, your majesty.”

Even with the lingering threat—and what that statement insinuated about how capable Keith’s only current source of protection was—Keith could do nothing to stop the thrilled upward quirk of his lips.

Down the stairs, they continued. The threat still wasn’t gone. A coup was still happening, and there were countless other dangerous villagers armed with swords and ready to take them both down in a heartbeat. Not to mention the others that were still on the stairs down below, approaching much faster than before now that they’d heard their partner fall.

“Stay behind me,” Lance said, and Keith begrudgingly obliged, remaining half a stride behind him as they chased down the stairs.

This time when they made contact, there were more people. Three in total.

Lance had managed to whack one of them unconscious with a swift smack to the head with the lance, and he’d managed to parry the swift descent of another sword, throwing the attacker off balance and leaving him plummeting down the stairs. For that guy, it was the fall that knocked him out.

But the last guy was harder. He seemed more skilled with a sword. In fact, based on his rough hands and firm yet intimate grasp on the sword, Keith would bet his ass this guy was a swordsmith.

Repeatedly, the man swung his sword at Lance from various angles, sword arcing gracefully like a swan. Lance deftly blocked each one, but the man’s attacks only grew fiercer with each swing, and Lance was clearly growing tired. One was not meant to use a lance against a deadly sharp sword. Most ordinary people didn’t do that. But Lance was no ordinary person. Why Lance refused to draw his sword instead and make this a fairer fight, Keith had no idea, but he wasn’t about to question him on it as Lance quite literally held the man back with his lance, death a mere inch away.

Lance had finally seemed to be getting his swing back, slowly pushing back against the sword, when suddenly, the man withdrew and thrust his sword up at a new angle, this time swinging upward. Judging by Lance’s low grunt and slight stagger backwards, arm flinging to cradle his side, the man must’ve nicked him. With the shock of the impact, the lance had dropped to the floor and bounced down a few steps, becoming well out of reach. Lance, Keith, and their attacker eyed it as it did so.

The damage to Lance’s side didn’t seem too bad, but it clearly had taken Lance by surprise, because in that moment, he froze. Even when the man raised his sword again, Lance wouldn’t move a muscle, just stared up at his attacker with wide, shocked eyes. Terror suddenly bloomed within them as Lance likely realized the danger that was quickly approaching. His shaking fingers grappled for the hilt of the sword secured to his hip. After fumbling for what was probably half a second but felt more like many minutes, Lance finally drew the sword from its sheath, holding it up in front of himself defensively.

Keith waited for him to make a move; the man seemed to be waiting too, yet Lance just…wouldn’t move. Instead, Lance began breathing hard, his skin twitching to do something, but Lance was stuck. Lance was stuck and the swordsmith had decided he was tired of waiting and a sword was coming down on him, the sword was being thrust at Lance and Lance could do _nothing,_ because for whatever reason, Lance was frozen in place, fearfully eyeing the sword in his shaking hands and then frightfully locking onto the eyes of the man who was about to kill him, and Lance was about to _die_. _Lance was going to die_.

Without thinking, as if it were natural as breathing, Keith swiftly slid the blade from his hip and thrust it in the man’s gut mere seconds before his sword pierced Lance’s heart.

The man eyed Keith with wide, horrified eyes, mouth open in surprise as his sword clattered to the floor. Keith didn’t break eye contact as the man grasped at the area around where the blade was still imbedded in his flesh, blood collecting there and staining his hard, cracked swordsmith hands.

Time finally caught up to Keith as the shock died away, and Keith looked away before the man hit the floor.

He glanced back towards Lance who still appeared frozen to the spot, sword still raised stiffly in front of him and eyes glazed over in a mix of shock and wonder and fear and relief and all the other emotions one would feel when face to face with death.

Steeling himself, Keith walked down a few steps and roughly pulled the blade from the man’s stomach, grimacing at the squelching sound it made. More blood gushed from the now open wound, staining Keith’s hands, as well as his blade, but when Keith went to look sorrowfully into the man’s eyes, an apology at the tip of his tongue, they were glazed over with lifelessness. The man was already dead. Truly looking into his face for the first time, Keith could see the man’s eyes were brown.

Keith had never killed anybody before.

But the coup was still in procession. Lance was still frozen to the spot. They still needed to get the hell out. So, Keith did what he could to quickly wipe the blood coating his blade against his pants so that it wouldn’t rust, then he sheathed it back against his hip, before placing a firm hand on Lance’s rigid shoulder.

“Hey, Lance, I know a lot’s going on in there, but I need you to come back to reality for just a little while longer. Once we get out of here, you can overthink yourself to death all you want. Right now, I need you to be my dutiful babysitter, yeah?”

Slowly, Lance seemed to come back to himself. His eyes shifted to his sword, then they shifted to Keith, then he swallowed, shook himself, and once again, he was on the move. Keith followed attentively behind him. On the way down, they were both careful of stepping over the unconscious bodies scattered across the steps, and Lance made sure to pick up the lance he had accidentally discarded.

They descended the rest of the stairs without issue.

And once they made it to the bottom floor, they avoided the torchlight and the shouts, and stuck to the shadows. Keith couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the castle and all of its inhabitants, to Pidge and Hunk and Ulaz, as he and Lance snuck out the door and ran like hell, and then continued to run like hell until they couldn’t run anymore.

By the time they both collapsed against the cool sand of the desert they’d stumbled into, the sun had already set, and they were miles and miles from their home kingdom.

Lance panted against the sand, throwing off his chest armor before flopping unceremoniously onto his back. He continued to pant as he stared straight up at the sky.

Keith kneeled beside him, hands pressed into the sand as he caught his breath.

Once his lungs no longer felt like they were grating against each other, Keith tilted his head up to gaze up at the night sky as well. It was really beautiful, all things considered, but it was also a long, _long_ way from home.

A moment of calm silence passed between the two of them, a moment in which they could catch their breath and Lance could remember he still had a small stab wound, before lightly placing a hand to the spot and hissing with regret.

“ _Shit_ ,” Lance rasped, and Keith worriedly turned to face him, confusion quickly turning to realization as his eyes widened at the blood staining Lance’s tunic.

“Is it deep?” Keith asked, not moving a muscle.

Lance removed his hand and lifted his shirt to inspect the wound.

“Nah,” he said, “it’s just a surface wound. Kinda like a really intense papercut.” And Keith released a breath so deep he realized he must have been unintentionally holding it. “Hurts like a bitch though.”

Keith’s eyes grew sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning into himself. “I wish you hadn’t been forced into this mess.”

“Hey,” Lance said, “It’s not your fault your kingdom is full of a bunch of castle crashers. Besides, as your devoted protector, its in the job description for things to get…pointy.” Lance turned his head to eye Keith, and Keith guiltily met his gaze. His eyes looked serious yet gleamed with a certain playfulness that just seemed to be so _Lance_. “I take this job very seriously, you know.” Keith waited, and the smirk he was expecting stretched across Lance’s face like the moon slowly creeping out from behind the clouds, demanding attention and possessing a certain arrogance that made the smirk itself feel like its own living entity. “Babysitting is some serious shit.”

Keith snorted, before laying on his back as well, staring into the sky, with Lance following suit.

A moment of silence passed between them.

Then.

“I killed someone today.”

Another moment of silence.

“I. Really… Killed someone.”

Lance said nothing, but when he turned his head and his eyes met Keith’s, they were full of sadness and understanding. There was the whole elephant in the room of _why_ Keith had needed to kill someone, but neither brought it up. They were tired. It could wait.

Again, Keith looked at the sky. Again, Lance followed suit.

The stars really were beautiful, splattered against the darkness, a spattering of twinkling specks, like freckles across the sky.

“So, what next?” Lance said breathlessly, and after a long pause with no response, Lance turned his head toward Keith with a teasing smirk. “Any ideas, _your_ _highness_.”

Keith turned towards him with an icy seriousness in his expression, a realization that had been dawning on Keith since this whole mess began and was now only solidified sitting tangibly behind his lips.

“We need to find Shiro.”

And Lance didn’t pinch his brows, or frown in distaste, or make any sort of expression at all, really, only nodded his head as if he knew that had been the right answer all along, before looking back up at the sky.

Keith stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows twisting together in pleasant surprise. Normally, Keith would receive an expression of reproach at such a statement.

A sudden lightness warmed and spread throughout his chest; it seeped down into his cold toes and lightened the weight of the thoughts in his head. It felt good to finally be acknowledged as though he was making the _right_ decision.

A coup had been staged in his castle. Lance and Keith had run away on foot. They had no food or water, and they were stranded in a desert god knows where; they had a king to find and a culprit to punish, but all of that could wait until tomorrow. For now, the sky was beautiful, the sand was soft and cool against his skin, Lance was warm at his side, and his eyes were drooping low l _ow_ _low_ …


	4. Where Two Lines Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Lance isn't as okay as he said he was...

Keith had awoken late the following morning to the hot sun burning against his cheek, leaving what was most definitely going to become a flaming, crimson sunburn.

He groggily shook himself awake, feet and legs still aching from all the running the day before.

Instinctively, he reached under his head to brush his fingertips against the blade that was always nestled under his pillow, his breath catching when his hands were met with nothing but hot sand. His breathing quickened as he realized his little mistake, yet still anxiously prodded at the belt around his hips until his fingers found the sheath and followed it upwards until they grazed upon the handle of his blade. All at once, his heartbeat slowed, his breathing calmed, and his eyes fluttered shut in relief.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the hot sand that had spent all morning uncovered by his sleeping form and therefore open to the burning sun’s scorching rays. He glanced around himself to scan his surroundings, eyeing the miles and miles of plain, barren desert, before his eyes fell stiff upon Lance’s sleeping form.

He looked horrible. His typically tan, brown skin looked pale, his hairline spotted with sweat; and even in sleep, his eyes were clenched shut with his eyebrows pinched together tightly and his mouth drawn down in discomfort. His body shivered, and beneath his closed eyelids, his eyeballs darted this way and that.

Keith frowned, scooting closer and reaching out to place a finger against sweltering skin. Keith would’ve excused the abnormal heat of Lance’s skin to the burning desert sun had his eyes not then stared at the open wound still imbedded into Lance’s side, now crusty at the edges with dried blood. Keith eyed it with worry. It looked redder and more irritated than yesterday, despite its more dormant state. It seemed as though the bleeding had stopped for now, but Keith doubted that would last very long, especially once he and Lance started moving again—which they would be, as soon as possible.

Keith examined the wound more closely. The cut hadn’t been very deep, sure, but it sure wasn’t just a little papercut like Lance had jokingly claimed it to be, and Keith’s chest suddenly shrunk with guilt, what felt like a large rock dropping in his gut, because Keith had known, Keith had _known_ the wound was more serious than that and yet still he’d let it be. He’d let Lance sit there with an open, bleeding wound, untreated, unlooked at, not even paying mind to the very plausible possibility of infection or too much blood loss. Sitting there, unmoving, the inside of Keith’s head ran against wall after wall as he cursed himself for being so stupid and so _careless_ , his face twisting and retwisting into a series of various displeased expressions; all the while, his eyes remained bitterly on Lance’s wound, regarding it hotly as though his gaze alone could chase it away. How could he have been so _selfish_ , letting the relief of escaping their main conflict blind him from the still very existent and glaring issue of Lance openly _bleeding out_.

In the midst of the havoc pillaging rampantly in Keith’s head, Lance released a low, quiet groan that made all activities in Keith’s brain cease as he turned urgent, expectant eyes towards Lance’s face. He watched anxiously and breathlessly as Lance’s nose twitched with his eyes suddenly clenching and unclenching in discomfort, his tight frown deepening. With a worried breath, Keith experimentally placed the back of his hand to a burning forehead. Keith’s own frown only grew.

Keith’s prodding seemed to have stirred Lance, as his heavy eyes began to flutter open, his head craning the barest bit upward to meet Keith’s frowning face with an equally perplexed, if not more exhausted one.

“Morning,” Lance said in a hoarse and croaky voice that only made Keith’s worry double. Lance’s eyes scrunched together as he took in the setting around them, the sun shining bright and high in the sky. “Morning?” he said again, only this time as more of a question.

Keith ignored it.

“Your wound,” he said, and honestly, his own voice didn’t sound much better than Lance’s, husky with dryness and misuse—they needed to find water soon— “We need to do something about it.”

Lance peered down at his side with knitted eyebrows, hand instinctively finding and blanketing his wound. “S’fine,” he said, and made to sit up on his elbows, before hissing and sinking back down. In its tousling, the wound began to ooze slowly with a bright new trickle of blood. Thankfully, the flow of blood didn’t seem very thick.

“Here,” Keith said, and without a word he leaned away from Lance, pulling his ceremonial armor over his head and abruptly ripping a strip of fabric from the bottom of the robes he wore underneath with a small grunt. He ignored Lance’s squawk of protest at the action as he once again leaned in towards Lance with the ripped piece of cloth in hand. He clinically eyed Lance’s wound for a minute, contemplating the tunic matted to its edges before slowly and painstakingly laying delicate hands on the fabric of the tunic and carefully lifting it from Lance’s sweaty skin. Keith would stop movement whenever Lance let out a quiet hiss, or at the click of Lance’s teeth gritting together, but eventually, with careful hands, Keith was able to lift the tunic from where it previously sat matted to the wound. Soundlessly, he bunched up the tunic so it rested tight and out of the way against Lance’s upper body, tying it off with the hair tie that never left his wrist. Lance scrunched up his eyebrows at Keith’s work as Keith lowered his attentions back to Lance’s wound.

Frowning at their lack of water to clean the wound with, Keith, with steady hands, methodically wrapped the long strip of fabric around Lance’s torso until the wound was sufficiently secured beneath it. All the while, Lance watched him breathlessly with wide, curious eyes. When Keith finally tied off the end of the makeshift bandage, followed by removing the hair tie from Lance’s tunic and carefully guiding the tunic back down his torso until it lay completely slack, Lance finally released all the air he’d been holding in with a long, drawn out breath.

Lance’s eyes met Keith’s resolved gaze with wonder.

“Thanks,” he breathed. Keith gave him a short nod.

By the time they were finally well on their way, Keith had deduced that they were likely well into the barren deserts of Olkarion, as they’d been running east when they escaped the castle and had since continued in that direction.

Due to the desert climate and scarcity of plant life, this region of land was uninhabited by the nature-loving Olkarians, who lived and thrived off their kingdom’s richness in plant life, which they used for a vast abundance of things, such as food, herbal remedies, and even the advanced technology Olkarion was so well known for. It was a common source of trade between Olkarion and Terra.

The only living humans for miles and miles of land, Keith and Lance trudged along the hot sand with the sun burning down on their backs and a stifling dryness clawing up their throats in hopes of eventually reaching the Technological Region of Olkarion. Once there, Keith could hopefully speak with King Lubos and ask him for his help. Olkarion had always been peaceful towards the other kingdoms; perhaps they would be sympathetic of the imbalance Shiro’s disappearance had caused. At the very least, they’d be able to treat Lance’s wound, which, while stable for now, was definitely still a problem, as Keith noticed Lance holding his side with a pinched expression every once in a while.

And so, they walked, Keith’s ceremonial armor left behind from when he’d taken it off hours ago and Lance clutching his chest armor in his hands, too hot to wear it, yet too afraid to part with it, in the instance that he needed to protect Keith against something. Lance was well aware Keith could take care of himself—he’d been increasingly reminded of that fact during the past few days—but Lance would be damned if that meant he didn’t still respect the importance of his position. And Keith knew Lance knew too, but that didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes every time Lance refused to just listen to him and give the stupid, heavy armor up. After all, it only added weight, making the long walk ahead of them even more tiring for both Lance, who had to trudge through the weight, and Keith, who had to hear him complain about it.

A pitchy howl ripped from Lance’s stomach and Keith was suddenly reminded that they hadn’t eaten in two days. Another notable issue. They really needed to get out of this damn desert as soon as possible.

As they walked, they passed rock after rock after layers and layers of sand. A few rocky structures lay here and there, all of them looking the same and all looking like an excellent source of shade, but Keith and Lance needed to get _out_ , and so Keith eyed the structures wistfully as they went.

“ _Wow_ ,” Lance suddenly said from beside him.

“What is it,” Keith said, trying his best to ignore his throat screeching dryly at him as the air grated harshly against it.

“I didn’t think it would take me this quick to start hallucinating.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. They didn’t stop walking, but he turned a head to look at Lance, who was staring straight ahead of them into the far distance, a look of wonder in his expression with a pinch of confusion resting there.

Keith’s eyes narrowed in wariness. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, tone steady, “I feel fine, I think. I just…” Keith watched Lance’s profile as his brows furrowed. “My brain is seeing an angel approaching us from the distance.”

Keith arched a brow, finally turning his head to follow Lance’s gaze. Keith squinted his eyes, lips pulled into a frown and a hand flying to his forehead to shield himself from the blinding sun. His eyed widened.

“I… I see it too.” Keith’s voice was laced with disbelief.

Lance jerked his head to look at Keith, the two of them stopping in their tracks. “Wait, _what_?”

They both looked closer, and, sure enough, there was something moving towards them from a distance. It was too far away for Keith to make it out, but it looked like the silhouette of an approaching figure—possibly more than one.

Lance smacked Keith’s back giddily and let out an excited _whoop_ , acknowledging him with bright, bursting eyes that were positively swimming in blue. Keith had never really understood the expression of a person’s face lighting up, but now, looking at Lance and his eyes that were _alive_ with eagerness and the grin which seemed to stretch across his entire face, Keith felt as though Lance’s face was shining brighter than the sweltering desert sun on their backs.

Keith grinned at him, eyebrows drawn up in bemusement as Lance bounced on the balls of his feet and fisted the air letting out whoops and whistles and laughing like a madman.

“We’re _saved_! Thank _god_! Now I won’t have to die alone with you and your ugly mullet being the last thing I ever saw.”

Keith didn’t have time to give a snarky response to Lance’s comment, as Lance had already grabbed Keith’s wrist and started to _bolt_ , the literal _hole_ in his side all but forgotten.

Keith had no idea why anybody would be out in these parts of Olkarion, much less walking deeper _into_ the desert, but the relief that settled in his chest like the spread of warm hot chocolate told him it didn’t matter. The doubt that had been settling and growing, very present but untouched in his chest had finally sunk away.

And despite himself, it seemed that some of Lance’s excitement was rubbing off on him, so he gave into the relief and let out a loud and wild whoop that rivaled even Lance’s, before matching Lance’s fast and giddy pace in the race to the mysterious figure(s?) in the distance.

Keith couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Hours…minutes…he couldn’t keep track with the rush of blood pounding against his ears or the trail of sand kicking up around them, muffling the sun and the sky to a hazy mirage that made deciphering the time of day a difficult feat. Not that it made much of a difference, as Keith’s determined eyes stayed locked on the figures as they drew closer and closer. Even Lance’s tight grip around his wrist seemed to fade into oblivion with Keith’s gaze locked deadset ahead.

The closer the figures got—and, given their closer distance, Keith could now distinguish for certain there were two—the more Keith understood why Lance’s sharper eyes had thought he’d been seeing an angel from far away. Though still a mere silhouette, one of the figures—most definitely a woman—appeared to be tall, graceful, and lithe in stature, with subtle womanly curves and what looked like long, flowing hair that cascaded down and around long arms, reaching all the way to the figure’s lower back. It was just a silhouette, but it was an undeniably beautiful one, even Keith had to admit.

The second figure was even taller than the first, also appearing lithe in stature, yet more square and masculine in build than the first. Almost certainly, they were a man and woman—however, from what Keith knew from the few lessons he’d attended that he’d actually paid attention to before Terra went to shit, they did not appear at all like the Olkari.

In fact, the closer they got, the more baffled Keith became.

However, Keith and Lance were still very much stranded with no food or water, so the physical builds of the two figures in the distance wasn’t the biggest concern on Keith’s mind, not with the sudden jerking of Lance’s hand around Keith’s wrist as his once steady sprint began stagger slightly. With a brief glance, Keith could see Lance had taken to holding his wound again.

Thankfully, however, it seemed that the two figures had finally noticed them as well, as one of the silhouettes lifted a shadowed arm to point in their direction, before the two silhouettes seemed to pick up the pace, approaching at a much faster rate.

_Closer, closer, closer…_

Until finally, they met.

Keith was right. The two figures had been a man and woman, and the woman was definitely one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. They were also most certainly _not_ Olkarian.

With bright, flashy hair and vibrant, luminous eyes, these two, it appeared, were also very far from home.

The moment Keith and the woman’s eyes locked, their faces twisted into something akin to horror. In an instant, Lance was upright and lunging for the man with nothing but his fists, his chest armor momentarily forgotten in the sand as the man moved to retaliate with his own fists held in front of him at the ready. The two bounced from foot to foot, sizing each other up; meanwhile, Keith and the woman only stared.

Wide eyes trailed along the woman’s smooth, dark skin and long white hair and gazed into eyes endowed with various shades of jeweled blues. His eyes landed and stayed on the faded and streaky pink teardrop shapes painted just atop the woman’s pointed cheekbones, a mark of Altea, Terra’s own worst enemy.

Keith merely gaped at her as threats and sounds of exertion were released from the two men squaring up around them. And he continued to gawk, even after the woman held up her hand in a flourish, effectively leaving both men freezing in their tracks at the unspoken authority that radiated off her in waves. For a moment, Lance’s eyes had widened as he stared at the woman in awe before falling back to Keith’s side, placing one protective hand on Keith’s shoulder while wrapping the other around his freshly reopened wound. The other man returned to the woman’s side with a murmured, “Sorry, Princess,” where he stood and regarded Keith and Lance with wise, cool-blue eyes. His marks, though a vibrant teal-blue, matched the woman’s in both shape and smudginess.

And then it became a standoff of stares. Neither side daring to break contact, and neither daring to move.

“Who are you?” the woman finally said in a firm voice lilted with an elegant twinge.

Keith said nothing, only stared at her with fierce dark eyes while Lance stayed faithfully silent at his side. The Altean beside her mirrored Lance in his narrowed gaze and defensive stance.

The Altean woman continued to stare at Keith, her expression shifting from authoritative to guarded. “Are you one of the Galra?”

And at this, Keith’s eyes widened the most miniscule amount, and a sharp breath released from his nose.

“No.”

Both Alteans sagged in relief; however, the male Altean still looked at the weapons strapped to Lance’s hip and back warily. At their display, Keith’s eyes only widened further.

“Why are you here?” Keith finally said, schooling his surprise and gazing at them with eyes cut like steel. Keith internally winced at the quiet grunt of pain released from somewhere beside him, but he refused to physically express any sign of weakness or waver.

In a flash, the woman’s posture straightened, eyes hardening to cut glass and her mouth curving into a serious frown. “I am Princess Allura of Altea. We come seeking help.”

And Keith, the strong, refined, leader of a prince that he was, stood there and gawked at her like a fish.

It was only when a pained cry tore from behind him, with Lance stumbling to the ground with a grimace, that the spell of silence and tension had lifted, with Keith quickly turning towards Lance in concerned confusion and the male Altean running to the fallen soldier’s side in an instant.

Keith could only stand back and watch with eyebrows twisted in distress as the Altean delicately prodded Lance’s body until Lance’s sharp grunt notified him of the wound’s location. The Altean quickly lifted the young man’s shirt and Keith grimaced at the sight that lay beneath. The makeshift bandage was soaked all the way through with deep scarlet blood, and the wound beneath looked even worse, red and angry and oozing a dangerous amount.

“How long has this poor boy been like this?” the man said, his eyes narrowed in concern as he prodded around the oozing wound.

It took Keith a moment of staring down at Lance’s wound with a horrified expression before the silence of those around him reached his ears and he realized the Altean’s eyes were on him.

“N…not long,” he stammered, “maybe a day or two.”

The Altean studied the wound with furtive eyes. “The poor lad shouldn’t ‘ve been out here like this so long…” This time, he did not look at Keith. But Keith knew his murmured words were directed at him, and even though they were said with a calm and steady concern, they bit into Keith like venom.

“It wasn’t that deep before,” Keith said, and his voice was hard and guarded as he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, his eyes lowering in guilt. “All the running must’ve reopened it.”

The Altean ignored him. Keith glanced to the supposed Altean princess standing beside him, who was looking on with eyes jaded with concern at Lance where he lay in the sand with his teeth gritted and his eyes wrenched shut. “It looks like it’s become infected.”

And Keith clenched his eyes shut at that statement, mouth pulled taut and jaw clenched. He knew he should’ve done something more…

His eyes burst open, however, when suddenly, a gentle hand graced his shoulder. He met the kind eyes of the Altean princess. “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she said, and the genuine care and honesty in her voice and eyes threw Keith through a loop because weren’t these people supposed to be his sworn enemies? Of course, he hadn’t said who he was yet, but it had seemed as though the instant she had found out he wasn’t Galra, she didn’t otherwise care.

“Can you use your alchemy, Princess?”

The princess grimaced. “All the walking has weakened me, but—” Her eyes hardened and shone in resolved determination. “I can try.”

Without another word, she knelt beside Lance’s form. She gazed upon his pained face and his closed eyes and placed a gentle hand against his forehead, brushing her fingers through his hair and smoothing it back with a kind smile. Then, as if the smile hadn’t even been there, her face hardened into something more resolute, her eyes falling closed. She placed a firm hand to Lance’s wound, and Lance hissed and gritted his teeth, body tensing.

Keith made to lunge forward and stop her from hurting him further when suddenly, the area around Lance’s wound began to glow first a soft pink, but then a bright, cool blue. Like the ocean, Keith thought. Lance’s frown deepened slightly, an almost imperceptible twitch of his brow, before all at once, his expression softened. His heavily pulled eyebrows loosened, his frown turned lax, and the harsh clench of his eyes fluttered into a looser state that made them look like they were closed in sleep rather than pain. In fact, it seemed like Lance _had_ fallen asleep, as his breath turned calm and deep and he made no move to open his eyes.

When Allura removed her hand from Lance’s wound and gazed back at Keith with a tired yet warm smile she looked absolutely _wrought_ with exhaustion. Her white curls of hair looked haggard and frazzled, and lines of exhaustion were evident against her tired face. Her shoulders sagged with fatigue.

Keith had known Alteans practiced alchemy; hell, they were _known_ _specifically_ for their talents in the field right alongside their trade in fishing. Keith did _not_ know that it would take so much out of them for using it. He found himself even more bewildered than before. Because this _Altean_ just sapped out the last of her energy on _her kingdom’s greatest enemy_.

“Why are you helping us?” Keith found himself blurting. His eyebrows were drawn together tight. “You don’t even know who we are.”

The princess looked at him wearily, finding it in herself to raise a tired brow. “It doesn’t matter who you are,” she said, and her eyes hardened once again. It was a wonder how she could still manage to look so strong while looking so wrought with exhaustion. “All people are worthy of our help.”

The male Altean looked up from his work on Lance’s wound to give Keith a smile of agreement, before returning his attentions to Lance’s side.

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew,” Keith said, eyes wary and mouth drawn, a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Try me.”

Keith’s posture straightened, his dark eyes hardened. “I am Prince Keith of Terra,” he said in a firm voice, “And we are mortal enemies.”

Allura stared at him, bright, wide crystal eyes piercing straight through to his core. Keith felt his insides begin to shrivel under her scrutiny, folding into itself in defense to prepare him for the attack that was sure to come. However, even with the inner panic clawing its way through him, he kept a stoic face, loathing the thought of showing weakness. Though, his fingers twitched a moment, deliberating whether he should reach for the blade at his hip as the seconds passed into what felt like hours frozen in time.

So today was the day he would die. All those years scrummaging to survive, sleeping in the cold, hard dirt and weathering sickness from frigid, lonely nights spent hungry with no shelter from the rain. All that time _fighting_ for his life, pushing against _everything_ life unforgivingly threw at him. All that pain and struggle, and this is how he’d die. At the hands of an immeasurably powerful and magical Altean all because of a chance encounter.

The world was cruel. 

However, to his immense surprise, Allura laughed, an amused yet bitter sound that ripped gutturally from her throat as if it surprised even herself. 

And Keith’s confusion only grew.

Allura then regarded him with the most multifaceted expression Keith had ever seen: Guarded yet open. Bitter yet sympathetic. A layer of amusement that was twinged with sorrow. Those crystalline eyes flashed with many fleeting and contrasting emotions. But the one that came and lingered, the one that stuck in Keith’s brain like cold, hooked velcro, was the undeniable heartache. She pierced straight through him with those despondent crystal eyes that never broke contact with his own.

“Once Coran has finished with your friend, we have a lot to catch you up on.”

Keith raised an incredulous eyebrow, unsure whether he should be relieved that he hadn’t been killed yet or suspicious about the reason why. 

“The war,” she said, voice clear and steady despite those deep eyes that carried so much gravity, “Was not at all what it seemed.”


	5. The Altean War - A Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's still reading this, sorry for such a long wait for such a short chapter. School and this goddamn pandemic have been kicking my ass. Anyway, the chapter title is self explanatory - we finally get a look at this Altean War everybody keeps mentioning. Enjoy, and don't be afraid to chat with me in the comments. It's nice when people say hi :)

_His entire life, the prince had never known war. Neither had either of his parents, the current king and queen of Terra. In fact, Terra hadn’t seen war for the past seven generations of the Shirogane bloodline. Terra had always been a peaceful kingdom. Despite being the largest of the 5 Kingdoms, Terra was a modest land, unobtrusively handled their own business and kindly stayed out of others’._

_There was never need for war. Never a need for a militarized system like that of the cautious but mighty Galra Empire. For why would there be?_

_But war always finds a way to grow and thrive, even if out of seemingly nowhere. Like a tumor, a growing infection, it pops up suddenly and it latches on. Sometimes, war emerges gradually, seethes beneath the soil, slowly festering until the growing pressure and heat can no longer be bound by tight confines, and it bubbles over into public view._

_The Altean War was not that type of war._

_The Altean War had blazed to life with no warning. There was no slow kindling of the flames or gathering of the wood. One minute there was nothing, and the next there was a rampant and stifling forest fire, flames licking icy hot through the kingdom and consuming it entirely with its burning rage within the short span of a day._

_No one had been prepared._

_Not the King. Nor the Queen. And certainly not the prince. Much less their people._

_Just outside the castle walls, the king of Altea had sat on a pure white horse surrounded by an entire battalion sitting armed and angry upon horses of their own._

_The King and Queen had met the conflict with confused yet open arms. They had tried to reason, and the Alteans had refused to lose their grit._

_A wildfire burned across the Altean king’s eyes where in the past there had always been patience, kindness, and peace. Now, eyes blazing and horses stomping, with weapons raised threateningly, it seemed as though the wildfire had burned all that away._

_“Queen Melenor is dead,” the Altean king had said. “She was found with one of **your** blades pierced through her heart.”_

_So, Queen Melenor had been murdered. And someone from Terra had done it._

_“You will find and turn in the **murderer** within a fortnight. Nothing is forgiven until the Terran **scum** who killed my queen is justly paid back in full for their crimes.”_

_The prince would remember the lost look his parents had exchanged for the rest of his life._

_“We grieve greatly for your loss,” the King reasoned, “but you cannot possibly expect us to find the felon within a fortnight.”_

_“You will deliver the culprit to Altea so that they can pay for their crimes, or the entire kingdom will pay **for** them. We will seek justice. No matter how many lives are lost to do so.” The fire burned so bright in his eyes and the lines burned so deep in the Altean king’s face that he no longer looked like the same man. Sometimes, it was all too easy to get lost within the flames…_

**_…_ **

_They are all sitting crammed around a table. The King sits at the head, the Queen in the next open seat with the prince beside her. The King and Queen sit up tall, graceful, distinguished, and dignified as always, yet there is a newfound stiffness to their posture and a tension in the air as advisors, knights, guards, and nobles all work under the ticking clock to find the most practical and humane thing to do._

_“I will **not** sacrifice an innocent life for the freedom of the rest. We are **all** people of Terra, and I will not throw away a random, innocent life like a roll of dice to pay for a crime they did not commit.” The King is firm in his words. There will be no swaying him. But it doesn’t matter to the prince and the Queen because they both agree with him. _

_"We’re running out of **time** ,” a frazzled knight implores, running his hands through his frayed hair. “We need to do something **now** , or else war could break out between our kingdoms!”_

_The King gazes solemnly at the Queen. She gazes back in sober understanding._

_“Then it looks like we are at war…”_

**_…_ **

_He sees him in passing and tries to avoid him. But the servants’ son has spotted him and locks his gaze on him like he’s got a target over his head. He reaches him in seconds._

_“Please tell me you’re not going,” he says, and his deep brown eyes are imploring as he curls a warm hand around the other’s wrist._

_“I have to go,” is all he gives in reply._

_“No. You **don’t**.”_

_“I **do**. I’m the **prince**. It’s my **duty**.”_

_“Your duty to **who**? Your **country**? I don’t see why you can’t carry out your duties to it **here** , **alive** , **away** from war. Jesus – this is your **life**!”_

_He grits his teeth. “My mother is already staying here to look after the kingdom. My **father** is going out on the **battlefield**. I need to be at his **side**! I need to **protect** **my** **kingdom**! It means **everything** to me.”_

_He sucks in a harsh breath and levels him with a glare that is just so_ him _. “Well, what do **I** mean to you, Takashi.” He waits. Stares at him with those angry, terrified brown eyes. Cuts him in the way only he knows how. _

_“Adam…” he says, and his voice has gone soft. “I need to do this.”_

_The man stares at him, eyes red and puffy and full of fury. His posture is stiff and full of tension, and his lip trembles for just a hint of a second before his eyes harden into a glare and his mouth is pulled into a firm line. “Fine,” he says, and his voice cuts like ice. “You do what you need to do.” He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before opening them again with an even more calculated and cold indifference. He knows it’s the man’s way of trying to cope with the pain, but, God, it **bites**. And the words he speaks next **cut**. “ **Just don’t expect me to be here when you get back**.”_

_He’s given one final glare before he is met with a retreading back. And then he’s gone._

**_…_ **

_The battle is brutal and full of untamed rage. No less could be expected from a grieving king who’d lost his wife only days prior._

_The prince loses an arm._

_He then loses a father._

_Terra loses a king._

_A lot of servants get caught up in the crossfire._

_Adam’s parents are among them._

_Servants who had volunteered their lives to care for their injured soldiers._

_It was never supposed to be this brutal._

_But war is never kind._

**_…_ **

_King/Queenless, Tired, and Depleted, both sides grow tired of the endless cycle of war and death._

_Together, the fatherless prince and the wifeless king come up with a truce to cease the war and end the cycle. All they had ever wanted was justice and peace of mind._

_And this was not what peace looked like._

_So, all is forgiven between the two kingdoms, so long as Alteans and Terrans stay well away from each other’s borders._

_Both sides agree to the treaty, and the war ends._

_On paper, all is forgiven, but to those who have lost and grieved and hurt, nothing is forgotten._

**_…_ **

_Kingless, armless, fatherless, the prince returns home. The first thing he does is embrace his mother, who is haggard with exhaustion and grief. As promised, Adam isn’t waiting for him._

_Later, once everything has settled and the remnants of adrenaline aren’t clinging to his sides and the excitement of post-war reunions dies down, Shiro locks himself in his room and weeps._

_He weeps for his father, for his arm, for the person he pushed away, and he can’t help but wonder what had been the point? All this loss, all this suffering for the people he loved and the ideals he believed in, and what had it left him with?_

_A broken kingdom ruled by a broken dynasty._

_Everything else had been taken._

**_…_ **

_Time continued even when the King’s rule didn’t. The Queen continued to rule Terra on her own, even as she grew ill. The prince’s studies doubled._

_The sicker the Queen got, the more the prince’s studies multiplied. It was an unspoken truth that the prince’s coronation as king would have to come much sooner than anticipated._

**_…_ **

_Eventually she died._

_The Prince became the King._

_And life went on._

_People came and went._

_Diplomatic allies had been made and lost, then sometimes made again._

_But the hate between Altea and Terra, that lasted._

_In fact, in a life of tremendous change and loss, that seemed to be the only thing that remained constant._

_The scars of war had burned deep, indeed._


	6. Fireside Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura catches them up to speed. Also some subtle klance mayhaps?  
> Also I'm sorry for my super random and sporadic posting schedule. I have no idea what I'm doing.

The fire flickered across the princess’ eyes, making them glow a soft orange. Keith watched her calmly as she pondered the fire, eyes lost in thought while the flames made soft pops and crackling noises. To Keith’s right, Lance lay delicately in the sand in blissful sleep. Shadows from the curling flames flickered across his closed eyelids. Once Lance finally awakened, the princess had said, then she would explain to the both of them everything they had somehow been missing.

It was now just a waiting game.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, dark eyes piercing through the flickering flames. “I shouldn’t have freaked out at you after all you did to save Lance.” He cast the boy a glance, noting the peaceful expression on his face. Despite the confliction swimming in Keith’s eyes, his overall expression momentarily lightened in relief.

The princess eyed him with kind eyes. “I understand, Keith. There is much that you don’t know. If the circumstances were a bit different, I may have reacted the same.”

“Thank you,” Keith said, albeit a little awkwardly. “For being so understanding.”

“Of course,” she said. “You know, we’re not so different, you and me. You were just heeding the lies you had been told.” Her crystal eyes swam darkly. “I once fell prey to the very same lies. I suppose it can happen to the best of us.”

“No worries, Princess,” the Altean with the bright ginger hair said, placing a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. This Altean’s accent was much thicker than the princess’, and it was much more lilting in tone. “We were _all_ lied to.”

“So, your name is Coran?” Keith said, addressing the man.

“Indeed, it is, my boy. And I do say it’s quite the honor to meet’cha.”

Keith gave the Altean a weak smile. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he had other things on his mind at the moment.

“So…when will he wake up?”

“The boy?” the Altean said. “There’s no way to tell, but it shouldn’t be too long now. He’ll likely be up in a jiff.”

There was a brief moment of silence in which Keith rubbed absently at his arm.

“Thank you.”

The princess looked up at him with startled, almost confused eyes. “I do believe you just said that.”

“For saving him, I mean.” Keith rubbed nervously at the back of his sweaty neck. His hair felt filthy and matted against his fingers. He glanced over at the boy in question. He had been so overwhelmed with guilt and worry.

The princess’ eyes softened. “We don’t require any thanks for doing the right thing.” She flashed him a warm, honest smile. “It’s just nice to finally come across some friendly faces. Besides, from what I can tell, it seems as though he’s the one who saved you.”

Despite his better judgement, Keith smiled back.

“You guys having a smiling party?” asked a woozy voice.

Keith rolled his eyes. Leave it to Lance to ruin a heartfelt moment. But then his eyes bulged, his body stilled, and his head whipped around, because _holy_ _crow_ —Lance was _awake_.

In a moment, Keith was turning fully towards him, taking in the boy as he slowly began to sit up from the ground with a short wince.

“Ah, let me help you out there, my boy,” Coran said, striding over to help Lance into a sitting position. Lance smiled at him gratefully, only the smallest trace of a grimace in his face as he was helped upright.

Keith studied him, eyes flicking from his wound to his face. Despite looking a bit worse for wear, the color was back in his cheeks and his wound was diminished to a mere marring of black and blue across his skin. He was okay.

“Welcome back,” the princess said warmly from her place by the fire.

“Good to be back,” Lance said with a hand around his side. He blinked a few times, frowning as he eyed the two Alteans. “Though it seems like I missed a lot.”

“Not to worry, son, we waited up for you. The Princess wanted to make sure you were up and about before getting into all the nitty gritty details.”

Lance looked to Keith for clarification. His eyes darted from the rambling redhead to the prince, a question in his eyes that seemed to say, _What is up with this guy?_ Keith shook his head, a halfhearted smirk to his lips that made its way there unconsciously. “It’s good to have you back, Lance.”

Once Lance was fully conscious, well-fed, and thoroughly examined by Coran’s sharp eye, the sky was an inky black above them, the moon high in the sky, and the night deep into its cycle. It was then and only then, the fire still flickering boldly, that Allura finally began to fill them in on the supposed missing pieces.

“I was twelve years old when the War began...” She began by discussing the Altean War, detailing her mother’s sudden stabbing and the Marmoran blade they had found pierced through her heart. She went over her father, the King’s overwhelming grief and rage at an attack so unprovoked, and his rather brash decision to retaliate. She went over it all, all of the details they already knew, right up to the truce. Needless to say, Keith found himself a little underwhelmed.

“Uh, Princess,” Lance began, “not to burst your bubble or anything, but this stuff’s pretty basic knowledge. Heck, I could’ve told you that.”

Keith said nothing out of the small shred of diplomacy he’d managed to learn from his countless grueling lessons in how to be a prince, but he subtly nodded in agreement. It was nice having Lance around to ask the dumb questions Keith was supposed to know better than to ask. Though he had to give it to Lance, he was pretty brave to have the gall to talk back to a princess—an Altean one, no less.

“Yes, you are correct in that,” Allura said patiently. But she looked down, then, gazing into the crackling flames which flickered darkly within her eyes. “But there is more to the story.”

Keith watched her silently. It seemed as though the princess was having some trouble with her next words. Coran placed a gentle arm on Allura’s shoulder, rubbed her back in soft encouragement. She looked at him gratefully and the two of them shared a look so intimate that it became clear that Coran was more than just an advisor to the royal family. Neither Lance nor Keith said a word.

Then, with a deep breath, Allura continued. “When the War ended, life went on. My father learned to function as King without the help of my mother.” She hesitated. “Though he was never quite the same.” She swallowed heavily, just a flash of something like grief flitting across her eyes—but, the perfectly composed princess she was, it was gone as quickly as it had come. Seamlessly, she continued. “I was of sixteen years when magical beasts crash landed within our borders. Beings as tall as the trees and as magnificent as the setting sun. These creatures possessed wings that let them soar above the clouds and an innate ability to shoot the elements from their jaws.”

“ _Dragons_ …” Lance breathed from beside Keith.

“Precisely,” Allura said.

“Wait a minute,” Keith said, eyes like cut glass despite his confusion. “I thought dragons were just a myth.”

“You _would_ , mullet.”

Keith watched Allura with deep, unshakeable eyes, even in spite of Lance’s sharp tongue which Keith opted to ignore.

“To be quite honest, I thought so too,” Allura said. “Neither I nor my father could ever have imagined a creature so magnificent, even in our wildest dreams--”

“Did they have horns, like the stories say?” Lance cut in. “Oh! Or the giant claws and spikes?”

The prince and princess eyed Lance with blunt eyes and flat eyebrows. He shrunk minutely at their combined gazes.

“Was just curious…” he mumbled.

His words went unheard.

“Although we were fearful, at first, the creatures proved themselves to be peaceful beings. Though we did not know how they’d been brought to us, my father figured they must have been brought to Altea for a reason. He vowed to protect them, and so he kept them secret from most of Altea and the other four kingdoms.”

“You mean your own kingdom didn’t even know about them?” Keith said.

Allura looked at him, a bitter sweetness in her eyes. “It was the only way to keep the creatures safe, as well as the people of the kingdom.” Her eyes became shadowed. “You would be surprised by the lengths some would go for power.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed, frowning as something dark stirred in his gut.

“So, then…what did you actually, y’know, _do_ with the dragons?” Lance said.

At that, Allura’s eyes brightened. “We befriended them. My father and his closest companions learned to ride them. My father granted them stable.”

“Wait wait wait,” Lance said. “You _rode_ the dragons?” Keith glanced to his right. Lance’s eyes were full of wonder as the flames danced in his eyes.

“Not I,” Allura said. “The dragons were very selective about their riders, and only chose those with certain personality traits to mount them. We called these few the Paladins.”

Though it was quiet, Keith was able to hear Lance’s breathed “ _Whoa.”_

“So…” Keith said, dark eyes swirling in subdued confusion. “If dragons are real—” Allura nodded as he spoke—“and your father can ride them, then…why doesn’t he just fly one of them over to come get you?”

Something in the air dropped. The atmosphere darkened; the air stilled. All grew grimly silent, with only the occasional crackle and pop of the smoldering flames to break through the stiffness of the air. Allura became withdrawn, glancing down and staring gravely into the dry sand beneath them. Shadows danced across her face.

“My father is dead.”

Keith’s senses came to life like pinpricks, the hairs on his skin standing straight and alarmed tingles shooting up his arteries. He could hear Lance spluttering beside him.

“ _Dead_? When did _that_ happen?”

Keith closed his eyes and inhaled sharply at Lance’s blubbering.

“I mean—” Clearly, Lance had noticed his insensitivity. “Like, that’s just a surprise I guess—y’know, since we don’t hear from you guys, since, uhm, we killed your mom—I mean— _ow!_ ”

Lance glared at Keith, rubbing his freshly elbowed skin.

“What he means to say is we’re sorry for your loss.”

“Yes,” Lance said, still rubbing at his arm. “Yes, that is what I meant.”

Allura glanced between the two of them, a subtle fleeting twinkle in her eyes. Her mouth was a flat line, but something pulled at her lips. However, she quickly shook it off.

“Thank you for your condolences,” she said, face once again completely composed. “But that is not why I am telling you this tale.” She looked at Lance when she next spoke. “My father is dead because the Galra killed him.”

“The Galra?” Keith said. Thin lines appeared on his forehead as his eyebrows drew together. “But the Galra have always been good allies to Terra. And they’ve always remained neutral in the Altean War.” It was true. Terra and the Galra Empire had a mutually beneficial relationship, trading Terran goods for Galran weapons. But they’d never faced the same ill opinion of Altea. Though militaristic, the Galra had always been peaceful, had never tried to incite conflict.

“Yes, well what _you_ call the _Altean_ War had a lot more to do with the Galra than you might think,” Allura said bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “They are not as innocent or _neutral_ as they seem.”

Once again, Coran placed a comforting arm around Allura’s shoulders. “Princess, perhaps we should hit the hay for the night and tell them the rest tomorrow.”

“No, Coran,” Allura said firmly, and she gave Coran a grateful smile, but moved out of his embrace. “This needs to be said now. It is vital that we not delay the inevitable.”

Five seconds. The princess took five seconds to steel herself before she was already back in Princess Mode and sitting straightly and confidently, looking as though she hadn’t been crumbling slightly only moments before. This. _This_ was what royalty was supposed to be. This was who Shiro was. It was not who Keith was. It could never be who Keith was.

“Somehow, the Galra found out about the dragons, and without warning, they attacked us. They went straight for the castle. It was meticulously planned, deadly, and Altea was desperately unprepared. I watched many good people fall before my father sent Coran and me away to find somewhere safe.” The fire had diminished slightly, glowing red against the desert sand, turning the inky air rusty crimson. Not even Lance dared break the silence that clung with a tension to Allura’s words. “The last thing I saw before I was fleeing my own kingdom was my father on his knees with the Galran Emperor’s sword pointed at his throat.”

Keith swallowed her words, gulped in the silence that settled through the air, drowned a bit in its sudden heaviness. As the stillness grew longer, the fire drew smaller.

“If there is any light to come from that day,” Allura finally spoke, words filling the void like sweet whispers, “it is that most of the dragons were able to flee. Though much was lost, it was not entirely in vain.”

Allura let out a long sigh, and with it, she deflated. Her straight posture, her serious eyes—her entire body sunk, as if she were a marionette whose only remaining string had been cut. In that moment, she went from a princess to just another human. In all honesty, it wasn’t sad to watch, but rather a relief. Coran put an arm around her, and she laid her pretty head on his chipper shoulder, her eyes drooping tiredly.

“We tried to find refuge in Olkarion,” Coran continued for her, “but it seems as though it is already under Galra influence. They’ve got the king right in their grimy fingers, the darn coward! So, we fled to the desert.”

“That’s why we need your help,” Allura spoke softly, crystal eyes looking tired and open and, dare Keith say it, _desperate_. “The Galra will stop at nothing to conquer all the kingdoms. Yours included.”

“I…” Keith said. “I don’t think we can be of much help to you.”

Allura closed her eyes tiredly. Let out a long, drawn out sigh. “You’re all we have.”

“What he means is,” Lance said, “our kingdom isn’t exactly in the best state. There’s sort’ve a, uh, _coup_ going on right now. We’re kinda fleeing for our lives at the moment…”

“Going back right now wouldn’t be a good idea,” Keith cut in with finality.

“Then where is your king?” Allura said.

And yup. There was the question Keith was waiting for. The question that really meant _Where is the more competent person to help me?_ By all means, Keith wished he knew. He wished Allura wasn’t stuck with _Keith_ as the one person who could help her, wished he could give her someone more qualified, more skilled, more _prepared_. But Keith was all she had. And without Shiro, Keith had nobody. 

“He’s been missing for weeks,” Keith said. “And all the other nobles fled when the villagers attacked.” He sighed, looking down at his dry, cracked hands, at his bony arms and his pale skin, at the ceremonial armor that tried so hard to make a skinny little street rat look like a prince. The crown had never looked quite right on his head. “I’m all that’s left.”

His twiddling fingers were stilled by a warm hand. It felt delicate yet strong. He looked up to meet Allura’s eyes. “It’s enough.”

Her eyes were so kind, so trusting, so _sincere_. As if she really, _truly_ believed it. He slid his hands out from under her grasp.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

He stood up, stretched his stiff legs, and wandered a bit from the fire to lay down for the night. He could at first feel eyes on his back, and as he went to lay down, out of the corner of his eyes he could see Lance quietly whispering to Allura. He could still feel their eyes on him, but it was too much. And he was too tired. It had been a long day. Hell, it’d been a long _night_. So, he turned on his side with his back to the others. The fire was nearly snuffed out.

When Keith’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, the fire had been reduced to nothing but ash. The sun was out, yet not yet at its peak in the sky. It must have been around mid-morning. His eyes squinted shut as he shifted, a grimace at the tip of his lips. His body felt stiff, his limbs sore from all the walking. At the very least, he felt somewhat hydrated, unlike the previous morning. He instinctively looked around himself, body stilling when his eyes landed on Lance, who was talking animatedly to Coran, arms flailing and everything. The princess was nowhere to be seen.

Keith’s eyes narrowed. Considering Allura and Coran seemed to be constantly attached at the hip, it felt odd that the princess not be at his side.

With a small grunt, Keith sat up, wincing at the loud sound of his back cracking. He looked around himself one more time out of habit, then forced himself to his feet, his hand fingering the blade handle at his hip.

“Ah, his royal highness finally awakens!” Lance said upon Keith’s approach. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Keith glared at him from beneath greasy black hair that lay matted to his forehead, sticking up in other places at odd angles.

“You’re quite charming this morning, aren’t you?”

Keith responded with a simple, rather unprincely gesture, before turning to Coran. “Where’s the Princess?”

“Oooooh,” Lance said before the man could respond. “Why do _you_ care so much? Does someone have a _crush_?”

Keith rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored him.

“She went to go scout out for any other possible villages nearby,” Coran said cheerfully.

“And you didn’t go with her?”

“See, I wanted to, my boy, but the Princess was pretty bent on having me stay here and ensure you two don’t scamper off while she’s gone.”

“I volunteered to help her, but I got a knee to the groin,” Lance supplied.

“And a well-deserved one at that,” Coran said.

“What can I say,” Lance said with a dreamy look in his eye, “sometimes the Lance Charm is just too much for the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re too much for everyone,” Keith said dryly.

“You shush,” Lance said, pointing long fingers in Keith’s face, before jabbing him in the dead center of his chest. “I’m _lovable_. You _love_ me.”

“I tolerate you,” Keith said.

“See! _That’s_ love.”

When Allura finally came back, probably around a half hour later, the three of them looked to her with hopeful eyes that quickly became downcast at the sullen shake of her head.

She spoke in hushed voices to Coran, then to Lance, which confused Keith a bit, as he didn’t know they were all buddy buddy, but then her eyes darted back and forth between Lance and Keith, and with a shrug, Lance began to saunter his way over. It seemed his wound was a lot better, as he no longer winced or swayed with each step.

When he finally stood in front of Keith, hands laying relaxed at his sides and a controlled calm over his face, Keith crossed his arms.

“Listen, Keith—”

“Just because she batted her eyes at you and turned you over to her side doesn’t mean it’s going to work on me,” Keith said with a frown.

“Keith, these people really need our help.”

“Well, we’re not the right people to give it.”

“Keith, we’re the _only_ people to give it.”

“Well that’s not _fair_ ,” Keith said, and his own words surprised him. But once it was out, he couldn’t take it back, let alone stop the succeeding flood of honesty. “I’m not Shiro. I’ll never _be_ Shiro. I can’t _replace_ him! I’m not _meant_ for this, Lance! I wasn’t _born_ into it like Shiro or Allura, I’m not the right person.”

Keith’s eyes widened, and he cut himself off. He stared at Lance as a beat of silence ensued between them, but Lance’s eyes remained calm, if not a bit tired, a bit sympathetic. However, they looked hard as ever, as he reached out a firm hand, placing it steadily on Keith’s shoulder. His expression didn’t falter. 

“Keith, no one can replace King Shiro. But the King wouldn’t choose anybody he didn’t feel was worthy to lead his kingdom alongside him. I respect his choice. So does Allura. And you should too.”

“I used to be nobody. I used to steal, used to let others take the fall. I’m not a good person, Lance.”

“You did what you had to, Keith.” Lance said, and he faltered for a minute. “I admit, I used to kinda hate you. I thought you were privileged and snobby and that you didn’t appreciate what you had.”

Keith huffed dryly. “Gee, thanks.”

“Well wait, lemme finish, idiot.” He paused. “I _used_ to hate you. But then I got to know you, and you’re pretty alright. I mean sure, you’ve got a really bad mullet, and you look like you’ve never properly washed your face your whole life, but you’re maybe kinda funny sometimes. And maybe I like your company. And maybe you’re sorta a badass with a blade, and I maybe kinda owe you my life. So yeah. You’re not so bad.”

“Wow, you’re really great at compliments.”

“Okay, take away your sarcasm. Geez. What I mean to say is—I guess I’ve realized it wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate what you have, it’s that you didn’t think you deserved it—I realize that now. You’re actually a pretty good guy, and you know what? I think it’s pretty darn great how you stepped up to the plate, no questions asked, just ‘cause Shiro asked you to. And even when he went missing and people treated you like shit, you wanted to be better for them. That’s pretty frickin’ awesome, dude. I would’ve lost my shit. Like when that guy almost killed me. He was right there, I had my weapon raised, and I just couldn’t do it.” Lance sighed. “I couldn’t kill him. But you—you _did_. And you did it ‘cause you had to. ‘Cause you put other people first—you put _me_ first, and I…” Lance scratched nervously at the back of his head. “I really gotta thank you for that. So, yeah. Thank you…” He trailed off. Keith stared. He stared and stared and stared. Because that was so much. So much more than Keith ever would have expected—and from _Lance_ , of all people.

“C’mon, dude. Don’t leave me hanging like that. I just spilled my guts out.”

A few blinks.

“Keith? Buddy?”

“I can’t—I didn’t hear you. What was that you just said?” There was a wry grin on Keith’s face.

“Oh, come on! I thought we bonded.”

“Nope. Didn’t hear you. Looks like you’re gonna have to say it all again.”

“This is bullying.”

“Louder, for the people in the back.”

“Oh, piss off,” Lance said, but he was smiling too.

“You really think that highly of me?” Keith said, a mix of playfulness and disbelief to his tone.

“Yes,” Lance said without missing a beat, and the sudden sincerity and certainty to his voice made the playful smile drop from Keith’s face. “Yes, I do.”

Keith let it soak in, let it sink into his veins and settle in his gut, let it float around inside of him a bit before he fully let it register.

“That’s a lot of respect for one guy,” Keith said, and he swallowed deeply, as his throat felt dry and heavy.

“Well he’s one of the good ones,” Lance said. “And I know he’s gonna help the people who need him because that’s what good guys do.”

A moment.

Deliberation.

Then, “You’re right. He is.”

A nod.

“You’re a good babysitter, Lance.”

“What can I say. I grow on people.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping me accountable. Setting me on the right track.”

“It’s what friends are for.”

 _Friends_. That was a word Keith could get used to.

“Besides,” Lance said, “what better place to check for a missing king than the empire that’s trying to take over the five kingdoms.”

Keith’s pulse spiked. “You really think he’s there?”

“Without a doubt.”

Keith’s eyes hardened. “Then let’s go kick some Galra butt.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lance said, and he rushed off to go tell the others.

Allura, at first, looked puzzled when a bouncing Lance stumbled into her, then pleasantly surprised. Then she glanced over at Keith with a smile so warm, Keith didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe Alteans weren’t so bad. In fact, maybe someday, once all of this was sorted out and Shiro was back safe and sound in the castle, Alteans and Terrans could learn to be friends. Maybe _they_ could be friends.

In the wake of such dark times, the future sure looked bright. And, success or failure, it was a future worth fighting for, so what was the harm in trying?


	7. A Lone Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the castle, James is kind of losing it. Meanwhile, looks like Keith and the bunch need to make a risky trip back home. 
> 
> Hi, this has been sitting in a doc since September, and I've tried my best to edit and I'm not sure whether or not I'm totally happy with it, but I've done what I can. I've been in a serious writing funk lately, but I hope someone out there manages to enjoy this and my writing. 
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and healthy <3

The boy walked the wide, gaping halls, traced feather light fingertips across the thick stone walls as he went. Outside, these monstrous walls used to make him feel so small, so insignificant and detached. But from within, he felt large. He felt _powerful_. His fingers, marveling every indent of carefully carved stone, held the world. It was all his.

“James,” a brash voice cut in. He turned, eyeing the figure at the end of the hall with careful detachment.

“Come to criticize me for my _conspiracies_?” James said. His posture was rigid, his eyebrows drawn in a harsh line, framing hardened brown eyes.

“No,” Rizavi said, taking a step forward, but the boy remained fixed. “I’ve come to bring you back to reality.”

James scoffed, mouth twisting into a scowling smirk as if he had expected her words. It didn’t stop Rizavi from edging closer.

“This is _crazy_ , James. What you _did_? It was _wrong_.” Her voice was careful. She spoke slowly, though firmly, all the while maintaining a penetrating stare against hard brown eyes that looked too far gone.

“Yeah,” James said with a disbelieving laugh. “Because it’s so wrong to drive out a _traitor_ of a prince who killed our king.”

“You don’t even know that’s what _happened_!” Rizavi said, arms spreading out wide. She was losing her patience.

“So _what_?” James said, and his careful disdain was also quickly dissolving into unrestrained anger. “That sloppy excuse for a prince could _never_ rule us the way King Shiro could. It was only a matter of time before someone else saw he would run our kingdom to the ground.”

“And you think _you_ could?”

“What?”

Rizavi grit her teeth. Her fists clenched at her sides. “You think _you_ could rule us like King Shiro?”

It was just the two of them. Two skinny figures on opposite ends of the wide, hallowed halls, one enveloped in the light filtering through the open door, the other encased in shadow.

The boy opened his mouth, but Rizavi beat him to it.

“We’re worried about you, James. Not just me. _All_ of us.”

“You’re just jealous—”

“For _Christ’s_ sake—We _care_ about you, James! We’re trying to stop you from making a _mistake_ —or at least an even bigger one than the shitstorm you’ve already summoned up! I mean—come _on_! Use your _head_! What on _Earth_ are you going to do with an entire _kingdom_?”

She stared at him, hazel eyes harsh and piercing and angry, but also shining desperately. Her eyebrows were raised high, imploringly.

“If you care so much, then why’d you walk out that door?”

Rizavi blinked, expression falling as her eyebrows folded together. “James, what’re you—”

“Master Griffin.” A man with thick, hairy arms and an apron coated in stains came marching into the room. “We’ve checked in with the people of Kerberos and Puig as you asked, and they’ve confirmed the prince hasn’t been sighted.”

Rizavi glanced from the man back to the boy in question warily. She eyed him curiously, lips mouthing the words _Master Griffin?_ with a thoughtfully withdrawn look.

James, his posture now slackened and expression slightly softened—though not without remnant traces of harshness—turned fully towards the man as he stood behind Rizavi.

“That’s great news,” he said, his voice raised in authority, and he moved closer to the man, brushing past Rizavi on his way. She watched him as he went, eyes narrowed, and mouth puckered into a frown. “That means the prince is officially drawn out of Terra.” His eyes narrowed and a dangerous smirk grew, and quite frankly, Rizavi was a bit scared by this new facial expression as a sudden darkness swam over his face. “Terra is officially ours.”

The man grinned back, seemingly ignorant to the fact of Rizavi’s presence in the room. “It’s all thanks to you, Master Griffin. Terra could use a leader like you.”

“All I did was take initiative,” James said, and his words sounded modest, but his expression looked smug. “Could’ve been anyone.”

Rizavi knew James well enough to know he didn’t really believe that.

“We’ll have to keep a look out to make sure that nasty little Altean spy doesn’t come back,” he said. “But otherwise, it seems as though we’re in the clear.”

“I can’t watch this,” Rizavi said. She looked to James one final time. Gazed into the eyes of the skinny kid from Garrison who just wanted to mean something to the world. But those eyes were unrecognizable. She shook her head. “Come back to us when you’ve finally gained some sense,” she said, her face shadowed in disappointed indifference. And with that, she turned her back on the boy and left. When the heavy doors closed after her, left behind was the husk of a boy who had been lost within its consuming walls.

…

The next course of action for the displaced band of escapees was to plan their next moves. So far, it seemed, there was a major discrepancy between two of their party in particular over what should constitute as their top priority. Allura seemed to think finding the dragons was the most important course of action. Keith, on the other hand, was insistent in that finding Shiro trumped over all else.

“Keith,” the princess said. Her tone was firmly resolute. They had been over this quite a few times already. “The dragons are vital in stopping the Galra.” There was an edge to her voice, but her eyes were schooled in patience. “If we do not find all the dragons and unite them in our cause, the Galra _will_.” She regarded him very seriously. “If the Galra find them all, then they have already won. And there is not a doubt in my mind that they’re already looking.”

Keith grit his teeth. His fingers pressed crescent indents into his palms. “Shiro. Comes. First.”

“ _Don’t you see_?” the princess said, and for the first time since they had all met, the whole _Princess_ mirage was fading. Her near impenetrable patience was waning, and her snowy hair was growing ever frizzier in her frazzled state, which combined cruelly with the desert’s unbearable heat. “In order to save Shiro, we _need_ the dragons _first_. The Galra’s military is too strong. We will be blown to smithereens before we even reach the capital.”

Keith glared at her, but his eyes were firmly resolute. He would not be swayed.

All the while, the blazing sun beat down on them, distorting the air around them in a burning haze and raising tensions with a vengeance. The sun was not yet even at its highest point in the sky, and already, it was doing its best to make their blood boil. The unbearable heat mixed with the lack of food and water was not boding well for them.

“Can you give us a sec?” Lance said. He looked to the princess with confident eyes, and she puffed up in frustration, before closing her eyes with a sigh and giving a small nod.

He held her gaze only to give a short nod in response, before turning back towards Keith. He crowded his space, peering at Keith with deep, focused blue eyes.

“Keith,” he began, and boy was Keith getting sick of that tone. He was sick of all the understanding lectures and piercing gazes. He was sick of the pleasantries and the lessons and the expectations. Why did _he_ have to be the bigger man? What made it _his_ job to keep a level head and choose the smarter option. He wasn’t _built_ for that. He had always been impulsive, always turned towards rash decisions and relied more on intuition than logic. Thinking level-headedly had always been _Shiro’s_ thing.

And now Shiro was gone.

Keith sighed, but he met Lance’s gaze, his silence expressing his willingness to listen.

“I know you want to find the King—”

“Shiro,” Keith said shortly.

Lance blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

“He has a name,” Keith said. “He’s more than just a king.” Keith crossed his arms and muttered, “He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Lance said, and he then placed a warm, placating hand on Keith’s shoulder. And, if it was even possible, his gaze deepened, gaging into Keith and somehow calming his constant instinct to get up and run from the frustration, to leave all else behind in his quest to quell the blazing fire burning in his gut. “I know finding _Shiro_ is really important to you—really, I do.” Keith crossed his arms. “But, in order to find him and actually get ‘im out, we’re gonna have to do what these guys say.” Lance gestured a thumb over his shoulder. From far behind him, the princess eyed their exchange—Lance all huddled into Keith’s space with arms glomped around him, leaned in close—she watched them with a curious frown but otherwise kept her distance.

Keith held his gaze but said nothing.

“I really wanna find him too. He’s a really great king—and a damn great brother I bet, too. But we’ve gotta be logical about this. The best thing we can do for him is save him with all we got. And these dragons,” he said, “These dragons seem to be it.”

Sweat dripped down Keith’s forehead as he eyed Lance. Every part of him would normally tell him to brush Lance off and do it his way—and if he had to do it alone, so be it. But there was something about Lance’s eyes—so _blue_ , so open, so… _Real_ —it seized that instinct and shoved it somewhere deep inside of him, lulled it to sleep like a snake charmer would a cobra. Honestly, it frightened Keith. It frightened him a lot.

But his last vestiges of rebuttal were dying. He couldn’t fight that gaze.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, then let out the longest exhale of his life.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine?” Lance’s eyes widened.

“Fine.”

“Really?” Lance straightened up, eyes widening even further, though Keith hadn’t thought it possible. “So, we’re okay? You’re all good?”

“I said fine, didn’t I?” Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“That’s great!” Lance said, bursting up to his full height with a disbelieving smile. Even through his excitement, he sounded a bit shocked. “I guess we’ve got some dragons to find then!” Lance turned on his heel, bounding back towards Allura with a massive grin. “ _I did the impossible_! _I swayed the mullet!_ ” Keith watched him go with a bemused shake of his head and an inevitable smile pulling at his lips.

…

“So, what’s next on the agenda?”

Ulaz stared at the boy with an unimpressed gaze. “Excuse me?”

The skinny boy crossed his arms casually across his chest, sizing up the taller man. He regarded him pompously. “Aren’t you supposed to be a royal adviser, or something?”

Ulaz’s face remained stoic, his cold and hollow eyes betraying nothing. “I hold no obligation to serve you,” he said. He wasn’t at all afraid. In fact, the lean man of no less than six feet and three inches who towered over the skinny boy with his calculated golden eyes and his stern mouth, was arguably a much more intimidating sight.

“If I’m sound in my knowledge—which I _am_ ,” James said, “it’s _your_ _job_ to serve the crown.”

Ulaz looked down his pointed nose at the boy. “I do not see a single crown in sight.”

“Hate to break it to you, pal, but things are different now. _I’m_ the new king around here.”

There was a distasteful flare of nostrils. “Not from where I’m standing.”

The boy stilled in his smugness, brown eyes cutting to sharp daggers as he glared up at the man. “Well it looks like you stand _alone_.” And with that, he sauntered off, footsteps a bit heavier and more haphazard than before. Ulaz watched him go with a mix of disinterest and distaste.

“ _Rot in the dungeon for all I care,_ ” he grumbled, his last parting words as he stalked from the room.

James stormed the hallway. His chestnut hair fell messily into his eyes, but he didn’t care to brush it away.

He had already captured the castle, had gained the trust and respect of all the townspeople. The _towering walls_ were his. The endless fields and gardens were _his_. He had made a name for himself. What _more_ did he have to _do_? He _refused_ to go back to being the nameless skinny boy from Garrison who sometimes wandered the streets in his ratty tunic and hand-me-down pants. He refused to be that starry-eyed boy who dreamed of a different life on a different land, who wanted to _be_ somebody, who longed to please a father who he could never see eye-to-eye with. That wasn’t a life. It was a _curse_. What more did he _need_ to get noticed around here? A crown?

_A crown_ …

…

It was noon. The sun showed no mercy. Sweat trailed down all their backs as they sat in a circle beneath as much shade as they could find—which, granted, was not a lot. Even in the absence of his ceremonial armor, with just his ripped, yellowed tunic and light dress pants, Keith’s skin was slick with perspiration. And if he was faring this badly, Keith couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine how Allura felt in her long, skin-hugging gown with her thick flowing locks, which she’d resolved to tie up into a messy bun atop her head.

Even Coran’s lip was wet above his mustache, but of course, he was adorning long sleeves as well, too dignified to remove his upper garments and walk around with his bare skin. Though he had defended his choices with an assured, _“Us redheads burn easily.”_

Needless to say, they couldn’t fight the elements forever. If heat stroke didn’t get to them, dehydration would. So, once everything was sorted out in terms of priorities, they made sure to get right down to business.

“I do not know where all the dragons fled to,” Allura said, and her tone meant business, even as trails of sweat beaded down her temples. “However, because of my father, I have a certain connection to their energy. I could use my alchemy to find them, but,” she sighed, “healing Lance has left me quite weak, and without proper restoration, I will not be able to summon the level of strength needed to locate them.”

Lance sighed dreamily. “I love how you put emphasis on words in weird places.”

Keith elbowed him in the side.

Then, more seriously, he said, “And that’s not going to be possible if we stay stuck here in the desert.”

The princess nodded wistfully.

“And we can’t go back to Altea because…well. _Because_ ,” Lance added with a sobered expression.

“Precisely.”

“On the bright side,” Coran cut in chipperly, “we _were_ able to see the direction the blue dragon headed in!”

“The bad news,” Allura continued, “it was headed north.”

Right. Of course it was.

“That’s back towards Terra,” Keith said. His dark eyes drew serious, his voice a mixture of wary and resigned. Fate was not on their side that week.

“Welp,” Lance said, a certain resigned enthusiasm to his voice that broke through the mood like lightning cracking against a clear sky. “Sounds like we’re going back home.”

“We haven’t been to Terra in _years_ ,” Allura said. “Has it changed at all in the past ten years?”

Keith pretended to mull it over for a minute. “Considering our king is missing, and our castle has been overrun by townspeople—yeah, it’s a bit different.”

“Forgive me,” Allura said, face falling. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith said. “Was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“ _Keith_?” Lance said abruptly, faux wide eyes accompanied by the overdramatic drop of his jaw. “Making a _joke_?” He gave Keith a playful nudge, which Keith shook off—it was too hot for this. “Are you sure the heat stroke didn’t get to you already?” He flashed a playful grin.

It was going to be a long walk home.

…

A lone, lavish crown resting untouched on the arm of a red throne lined with gold. The focal point of a room framed by long rows of golden columns, raised above all else on a platform that demanded power without asking.

A tall, skinny boy walks along the scarlet carpet. Stares in awe at the high ceiling with its swirling patterns and low-hanging chandeliers. Notes the paintings lining the walls of kings past. At the end, he stops, stares at a painting of a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, a strong, square jaw and wide, sturdy shoulders. The very same crown fittingly atop his head. A man born to be king. The boy stares and stares and imagines himself on these walls.

Long legs continue down the carpet, pace up the shallow steps until he and the throne are level.

A bony, calloused hand brushes lightly against the crown’s red, velvet cap. Fingertips stroke the gleaming jewels embroidering the band.

He turns, regards the extent of the room, and slowly, carefully, not a bone out of place, he lowers himself into the red cushions, arms resting powerfully at the golden armrests and feet planted flatly on the floor. He looks firmly ahead, considers the room in all its entirety, soaks in the power of the seat, the stage, the attention, and he feels right at home.

His fingers reach out, grasp the crown by the layer of fur beneath its golden band. Experimentally, two hands hold it up high, arms outstretched and elbows straight. The sunlight filters in through the giant window, light catching on the glittering jewels and the golden arch and monde in a way that makes them glint. Slowly, his arms move to hover over his head, and carefully, thoughtfully, the crown is lowered atop mousy brown hair. His hands drop back to the armrest, and he sits there. Slowly, the corners of his thin lips quirk, and he basks in it.

…

Walking, the journey back took about two days’ time. It was a long, tiring trek filled mostly with trivial chatter from Lance. A few key conversations, however, did make their way into the mix. Exchanges such as:

Keith: “You said before the Galra were involved in the Alt—” A stuttering pause. “In the War.”

Allura: “Indeed, I did.”

Keith: “Are you certain?”

Allura: “In light of recent events, positive.”

Keith: “I’m sorry about your mother.”

Allura: “Me too.”

Keith: “The Galra will pay for it.”

Allura: A wistful smile. “I know they will.”

And

Lance: “So, Keith.”

Keith: “Lance.”

Lance: “What’s your story?”

Keith: “My story?”

Lance: “Yeah, like—like your background. Before Shiro and stuff.”

Keith: “Uh.”

Lance: “Like _anything_ —where you lived, what you did, your family…”

Keith: A shake of his head. “Why does it matter?”

Lance: “I’m trying to get to know you.”

Keith: “You already know me.”

Lance: “Well, _yeah_ , as a person. But like—I don’t know anything about like where you _grew up_ or like…your backstory—”

Keith: “My backstory?”

Lance: “I’m just curious, _okay_?”

Silence filled only by the sweltering sun and shifting sand.

Keith: “I grew up in Garrison.”

Lance: “Whoa! What was your house like? Probably seems like garbage compared to where you live now.”

Keith: “Didn’t have one.”

Lance: “What?”

Keith: “I didn’t have a house.”

Lance: “What, did your dad not have a job or something?”

Keith: “My dad died a long time ago.”

Lance: “Oh.”

Lance: “Well, what about your mom?”

A pause.

Keith: “Don’t have one.”

Lance: “ _Come on_ , now you’re just being difficult—”

Keith: “Lance.”

Lance: “Everyone has a mom—”

Keith: “Just drop it, Lance.”

Lance: “Is it ‘cause she’s hot or something?”

Keith: “I said _drop it_.”

Long lasting silence.

A nervous change of subject.

The nearer they got to Terra, however, the more decisive the conversation became.

“So, what’s the plan when we cross the border?” Lance said. He pulled at his worn tunic with long, sweaty fingers. At least, Keith thought, if there was one good thing to come about from Lance’s frightening injury, it was that in the stress of his sudden loss of consciousness, the overbearing chest armor he had refused to discard had been lost in the dry sand.

“What do you mean, my boy?” Coran said cheerily, sweating like a pig but smiling in spite of it all. Keith didn’t know how he kept that pep in his step.

Lance rubbed the sweat from his hairline. “I mean, like. We’re kinda on the run. Not just you guys—but Keith too. And especially since we’re entering from Garrison…they’re gonna be looking for us.” He tore his eyes from the horizon to regard the rest of them, slowing in his walking so that the rest of them were compelled to do the same. In contrast to his earlier upbeat blathering, he looked serious. “Unless we wanna die or get brutally captured or something, we need a plan.”

“He’s right,” Keith said. “We aren’t going to get a warm welcome.”

_Flashes of frenzied footsteps against the silence. Burning lights, torches in the dark. The smell of fear, and endless stirring. Echoing shouts. A blade soaked in blood._

Allura nodded in understanding, Coran’s gaze veering into the unseeing distance as he pondered the problem.

“Do they have guards?” Allura said.

Keith shrugged.

“We got out before we could tell,” Lance said. “But the people of Garrison are smart, resourceful. They’ve got all kinds of different people with different skills. A good deal of them are swordsmiths. I’m sure they’re using their combined crafts and resources to the fullest.”

“What about the other regions?” Allura said.

“Yes!” Coran said. “Perhaps neighboring regions would be willing to offer their generous assistance.”

“Not likely,” Keith said. He could still hear their shouts and jeers like a dangerous ringing in his ears. “We don’t even know if it was just Garrison that raided the castle. And even if it was, the other regions aren’t my biggest fans either. I doubt they’d be too eager to help.”

“Actually,” Lance said, perking up. “I grew up in Garrison, but I’ve got family in Puig. Close family. They could probably help us!”

In spite of himself, something inside of Keith dropped.

“But, Lance,” Keith said, “Your _family_ … Are you sure you…”

“I love my family,” Lance said. “But I also love this kingdom. This is my job. My family would feel the same.”

Keith didn’t say anything else, but something still swam uncertainly deep in his gut. He glared pointedly down at the sand, something burning behind his eyes in dissatisfaction.

“Excellent!” Coran said, incognizant of Keith’s stewing.

“Yes. Really. Thank you, Lance,” Allura said, and her multitudinous eyes shone genuinely.

Lance grinned. “Anything for you, Princess,” he said with a wink. Allura rolled her eyes, but it was all in good nature.

“Okay, but we still have to pass through Garrison,” Keith said sternly. “How exactly are we going to do that?”

“Blend in with the crowd?” Lance suggested.

“We have a runaway prince and two Alteans. How do you expect us to do that?” Keith eyed the boy doubtfully, crossing his arms.

“The power of friendship?”

“How… How did you even _get_ this job?” Keith said with the amazed shake of his head.

“I don’t know—I guess I’m just likable.”

The princess suddenly halted, body stock still. The rest of them paused, kicking up sand as they turned to face her. Her expression looked absolutely wrought.

“I guess this is too obvious,” Allura said, tracing delicate fingers along the crown atop her head.

At her display, the heat of the sun seemed to suddenly disappear, simply faded to the back of their minds. The sand rubbing between their toes and the burns itching across Keith’s chest and cheeks—all of it sunk away at the look of withheld devastation on Allura’s face.

Coran touched a comforting hand to her arm.

No one said anything, but it was clear they all agreed.

“I suppose once this is all over, I could come back for it.” With careful fingers, she lifted it from her silver hair, bringing it before her eyes. She peered at it longingly, lost in thought for a moment, before slowly, hesitantly, lowering it into the sand. A remnant of her decimated home, a long-gone past. Left behind and lost to endless sand.

“There is still hope for our kingdom,” Coran said once they slowly began to resume their journey. Even as they walked, he gazed at Allura with shiny eyes that seeped with affection. “Our people cannot be discouraged so easily.”

She gave him a watery smile.

While Lance watched the exchange in silence, a guilty yet thoughtful furrowing of his eyebrows, Keith refused to look anywhere other than ahead of them. He had been selfish before, putting his own personal fears before the needs of the very people who had saved his guard, had saved _Lance_ without question. But now, he knew what he needed to do. He would make this right.

“Maybe I can get us through Garrison,” Keith said.

Three heads jerked towards him.

“What—what do you mean?” Lance said.

“To get us to Puig,” Keith said. “I think I know how to get us there.”

Lance huffed, sweaty chest puffing up and arms raising ardently in frustration. “Well, _why_ didn’t you say anything _before_?”

Keith’s jaw clicked. “Because it’s not going to be easy. And it’s definitely not going to be legal.”

“Yeah, okay—but staging a coup _definitely_ isn’t legal, so I think all rules and laws, and, _heck_ , _morals_ have been pretty much thrown out the window.”

“The young lad has a point,” Coran interjected.

Keith’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening resolutely. The others watched the back of his head as he tramped on without a care in the world. “Then I guess we’re breaking the law.”

Getting through Garrison proved less difficult than they had initially expected. For one thing, there were considerably less people in Garrison than was customary. It was likely that many of them had relocated to Marmora to reside in either the castle or the lavish homes owned by the escaped nobility.

Still, they had to be cautious. As the sand thinned to dirt and the scalding sun hid behind white, puffy clouds upon their approach to the Terran border, Keith turned to them silently, a cautionary finger held to his lips. The other three nodded, eyes narrowing in determined focus. Keith turned back around, taking a leading position ahead of the group. He could do this. He’d done it a million times as a boy. He had lasted so many years without capture for a reason.

Quietly, he led them through homes, helped them through open windows and abandoned market stands. The occasional Garrison resident would stroll by every now and then, but with Keith’s guidance and instincts, they remained unspotted. They had only one close call when a young woman with cropped, blonde hair popped up out of nowhere, footsteps lighter than a rabbit, but Keith had noticed her presence just before her indifferent face turned towards them, and he’d managed to herd them all behind a corner before her icy eyes could catch them.

When they made it to Puig in one piece, Keith deflated with relief. He was not used to carrying so many people’s trust and reliance on his shoulders.

“Where to now, Lance,” he said, though he didn’t dare speak above a low whisper, as there were likely still a great deal of people who would be more than happy to turn them in, were they to spot them.

“It’s not far,” Lance said, coming up to crouch beside Keith. “I can take it from here.”

More than happy to relinquish his leadership, he gave a relieved nod and fell behind with Allura and Coran. Lance peeked his head out from behind a building, then, turning back towards them, he motioned them over.

Rather than leading them _through_ buildings, Lance had them skirting around them, creeping around corners and toeing their way behind houses lining the outskirts of the village. They kept it up until Lance stopped them with the abrupt raise of his palm. Carefully, he poked his head up against a window, hands framing his eyes to block out the glare of partial sunlight that peeked through the clouds. There was a concentrated frown on his face as he stayed there a moment, eyes likely scanning the extent of the room inside. Then, suddenly, a smile lit his face, one so big and bright that the scorching desert sun felt like nothing in comparison.

“ _Come on_. Someone’s home!” Lance said, and the excitement bled out even as he kept his voice low. 

He peered around the corner, eyes scanning the front side of the building. No one was out and about, likely all at work in the mines. Confidently, he led them around to the front porch, nearly bouncing on his own heels as Keith and the two Alteans followed behind calmly, Keith making sure to keep a watchful eye behind his back and towards the center of town. Just to be safe.

When Lance raised a dirty knuckle to the wooden door, giving it three quiet knocks, his smile looked like it was breaking his face. He backed up excitedly, nearly stepping on Keith’s feet, but he didn’t seem to notice as his body practically buzzed with anticipation.

When the door finally opened, whoever stood behind it was lost within a sea of Lance, who had rushed forward with a pleased yelp and crushed the person in his eager arms.

“Lance, _hermano_ ,” a startled voice said. Dainty hands reached up to grab at his back. “What are you doing here?”

Though smaller in size, the hands looked, in essence, like Lance’s. They had the same long, bony fingers and narrow knuckles. The same clear brown skin marred with very little callouses. Though hers were drier, more cracked. Working hands.

“Rachel— _Dios m_ _ío,_ I missed you _so much_.”

Keith let out a quiet cough.

“Right,” Lance said, and he reluctantly detached himself from what Keith now could see was a girl who was likely only about a year older than Lance. “Rachel, can we come in? Please?”

Her eyes wandered around Lance over to the other three standing on the porch awkwardly, Keith with his arms crossed and his eyes elsewhere, Allura with her fingers entwining nervously, and Coran with a wide smile and a small, pleasant wave. Her eyes narrowed warily, but something about Lance’s expression must have triggered something in her.

“Alright,” she said, though not without casting Lance a questioning gaze. And, with that, she stepped aside to let them through. They all shuffled in, Keith casting one last cursory glance behind them, before entering the doorway, letting Lance hurriedly close the door behind him.

The inside of the house was… Cozy. That was the only word Keith could think of to describe it. It was medium-sized, not exceedingly lavish, or anything, but enough. _Cozy_. It was nice.

The walls were made of a sturdy wooden frame, lined with lightly colored straw. Only a few warm candles cast yellow light around the room, though most of the light came naturally as it filtered in through the open windows, where flowerboxes, filled with pink and yellow fauna, hung. Keith could smell the grass outside.

It was nice.

It was really nice.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Lance said, arms stretched out grandly in an overdramatic display. “Make yourselves comfy in any way you can. Sorry, Keefers, but there aren’t any royal gardens for you to hide in.”

“Hardy har har,” Keith said dryly, but he stayed where he was. Even though Lance was only joking, with the owlish eyes of a strange girl probing him, a nice big garden to hide in sounded pretty good right about then.

Coran was quick to accept Lance’s hospitality, immediately making a seat for himself on the seating by the fire. Allura followed his lead. However, she sat down much more consciously, eyeing her surroundings curiously as she lowered herself docilely onto the couch. As Coran excitedly eyed the room, Allura sat straight, her arms neatly folded together in her lap.

Keith edged his way into the room but made no move to sit down. Lance gave him a reassuring smile, before he moved to a corner, where he spoke animatedly with the girl in a language Keith did not know. Periodically, the two of them glanced their way. The girl went back and forth between looking in wide-eyed bewilderment at Keith, in wary suspicion at the Alteans, and in insistent fury at Lance.

Eventually, she sighed, glaring at the floor with her arms crossed. She muttered something under her breath.

“You’re the _best_!” Lance chanted, giving her a tight squeeze. “ _Thank you_!”

He paced back towards the rest of them with a smile, the girl trailing slowly behind him.

“Everyone,” he said, and they all gave him their attention. “This is my sister Rachel.” From behind him, she gave a disinterested, slightly nervous wave.

When her eyes met Keith, she held them there for a long time, scanning him. Keith could practically feel the gears turning in her head.

“You know this will kill Veronica, right?” she said.

“Oh, I’m quite excited,” Lance replied with the wry twist of his lips. “Anyway, you obviously recognize Prince Keith.”

“Your majesty,” she said with the tilt of her head, though it was clearly more out of irony than respect. It seemed the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

“And these guys,” Lance said, gesturing towards the other two, “Are Princess Allura and Coran of Altea.”

The girl crossed her arms, eyes narrowing as they zeroed in on the smudged crescent markings beneath their eyes. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be so hostile,” Lance said, elbowing his sister in the side. “We’ve been over this already. They’re cool.”

“They’re Altean.”

“Yeah, and you’re from Puig, and Keith’s from Garrison. Glad we’ve got that sorted out.”

“ _Lance_.” She eyed him warningly.

“Can you just trust me, Rach? Just this once? That’s all I ask.”

Lance gave his sister his most convincing puppy eyed stare.

“ _Ay, manito_ ,” she said with a sigh. Then, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“It’s my best quality,” Lance said with a smirk.

“Mamá is going to kill you.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Now.” He turned to the rest of them, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get down to business.”

After some long-awaited cold water and warm bread, the next objective was to find the blue dragon.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but rescuing Lance on such low energy really took a toll out of me. I’m going to need at least a full night’s rest and a hearty meal before I can find the strength to locate the dragon.” Her eyes darted toward Rachel, who stood by the far wall, ensuring to maintain her distance. “However, I understand if our presence is not welcome here for so long.”

“No. Don’t mind her,” Lance said fervently, casting a glare towards his sister as she sulked in the corner. “She’s just a stinker. Of course you can stay. My mom makes the best meals. I’m sure she could cook you up something good.”

“Lance,” Allura said, eyes glancing around uncertainly. “We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“Trust me,” Lance said. “If you’re welcome anywhere, it’s here.”

Lance needed to learn to stop running his mouth. Had to learn to quit while he was ahead. Did he really and truly, in the moment, think his family would be more than happy to help an escaped Altean princess and a somewhat banished prince? Yes, yes he did. Was that one of the dumbest things he’d ever believed. Yes. Yes it was.

At first, when his oldest sister walked through the door with his mother in tow, carrying a bag of goods from the market, everyone was seemingly thrilled to see him.

“Oh my god, Lance!”

“Oh, my _Lance_! You’ve come home, _mijo_!”

He’d quickly had several sets of arms wrapped around him, trapped in a three-person bear hug. In all honesty, he didn’t mind it. In fact, he was pretty much glowing, wrapped within the comforting arms of his family, but then Rachel had to go and cough shortly, causing the abrupt breaking up of arms, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

Immediately, Veronica froze, and she stared. Her eyes were wider than Lance had ever seen them, directed openly and wondrously at the dark-haired boy who leaned awkwardly against the far wall.

“Lance,” she said, though her voice sounded odd. As though it were a rusty machine in need of some oil. “Is that.” Her jaw clicked. “Is that the Prince?”

“You tell me,” Lance said. He smirked. “You’re the one who spends hours and hours over dinner gushing about his ‘ _beautiful gray eyes_.’”

Her face went beet red.

God, he loved having siblings.

“I have to go,” she said shortly, and she paced quickly out of the room, a palm held against her face to block herself from Keith’s view as she passed him.

“Lance,” her mother said, and based on the warning tone in her voice, she’d definitely heard the conversation. “Who are these people?”

“Um,” Lance said, suddenly nervous. “I can explain that—”

“I’m Keith,” Keith said, pacing forward to reach a hand out to Lance’s mother. She stared at his outstretched hand a moment before taking it, adding the second of her own warm hands to fully encase his pale hand within her palms.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Keith,” she said, a warm twinkle in her eyes. “We’ve heard so much about you. My daughter and Lance used to talk about you all the time.”

The sound of a hand slapping against a forehead.

Keith raised a dark eyebrow. “ _Lance_ …used to talk about _me_?”

“No. No I _didn’t_ ,” Lance said, looking pointedly at his mother. “Thank you, mother dearest, I think that’s enough time with Keith.”

The woman chuckled warmly, before letting go of Keith’s hand. His fingers felt cold in wake of the sudden absence. Keith surprisingly found himself longing for it back.

“Your son has saved my life multiple times.” Keith said by way of distraction. Yet, in spite of himself, he smiled. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

He then received the warmest, most genuine smile he’d ever received in his life.

Then, Lance introduced the Alteans, filling his mother in on all the events that had transpired. It went over differently than he’d thought it would.

“Lance. What have you _done_?” His mother rushed towards him. Once in front of him, the shorter woman placed pleading hands on his chest. “ _Ay mijo_ ,” she said, looking up at his face with wide, worried eyes. “They cannot _be_ here. There are hidden patrols everywhere. What if they had seen you?” Her hands grasped the folds of Lance’s dirtied tunic, bringing him down to her level. “What if they had seen your sister let them in?”

Her eyes were frantic, her thick brown hair a worried mess.

“Mamá, they had nowhere else to go. They need our help.”

She gave him That Look, and he shrunk under his mother’s gaze. “They aren’t safe here, _mijo_. And we aren’t safe having them here.”

Lance glanced around himself, and his mother did so too. All eyes were on them. His mother lowered her voice. “ _Debe ir_.”

“ _Pero, Mami—_ "

“ _No hay peros permitidos_. _Escúchame_. _Nos has puesto a todos en peligro_.”

She looked up at the rest of them. “It is not safe for you all to be here. For anyone.” Her hands worried against the loose skirt of her dress. “I can prepare a meal for you to take for the road, but you must find somewhere else.”

“We understand,” Keith said, stepping towards her. He tried to look stoic, but there was guilt in his eyes. “We’re sorry for the trouble.”

“ _Ay, este chico_ ,” she said. “You do not understand,” she said, and she approached Keith with warmth in her eyes and a sad smile. “I wish we could help you—truly, I do.” Keith stared at her blankly. Never in his life had anyone looked at him like that. So…well, _motherly_. She placed warm hands on his shoulders and glanced around him at the others. “Please be safe,” she said. “And watch out for our Lance.” The second part was directed more at Keith than the others. He swallowed. And he nodded.

“Well, what are we supposed to do _now_?” Lance said, groaning. He slid to the floor with his knees drawn and a stressed hand brushing back his hair.

“If anyone could help us,” Keith said, “It’d be Hunk and Pidge.” A pause. “Only problem is…”

Lance looked up, face drowned in dawning realization. “They’re back at the castle.”

Keith nodded.

Coran looked up. “What’s a pidge?”

Allura turned too. “And what is a hunk?”

“You know there’s a very likely chance we’re gonna die,” Lance said, ignoring the Alteans.

“I don’t see any alternative,” Keith said firmly.

Lance nodded. “I hate when you’re right.”

It was going to be a long night.

At the very least, things couldn’t get worse.

…

Two figures trek through the desert sand, their long, sand-toned attire protecting them from the harsh beating sun. Cream colored bandanas mask their faces.

A hand reaches down into the dry sand, which shifts as a half-buried and glinting object is pulled up from within it. The gloved hand brushes off the extra sand, and the sunlight makes it twinkle. The figure eyes the other figure wordlessly.

A glittering crown sits importantly in those hands.


End file.
